The Hangman’s Hold
MICHAEL WOOD

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright

KillerReads

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © Michael Wood 2018

Cover design by Dominic Forbes © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

Michael Wood asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © August 2018 ISBN: 9780008311612

Version: 2018-08-31

Dedication

To Christopher Schofield

A genuine life saver, a good friend and a huge supporter. He doesn’t only support me, but The Asses and Donkeys Trust too. Pomegranate anyone?

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

If you enjoyed The Hangman’s Hold, try the previous book in the series…

About the Author

Also by Michael Wood

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Day One

Thursday, 9 March 2017

The pale grey, or the sky-blue tie? The grey one would go with the jacket, but the blue would match the shirt. Maybe no tie at all.

With a sigh, he threw both ties at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror and fell backwards onto the bed behind him. He turned to the alarm clock on the bedside table. The harsh digits in a terrible Day-Glo green, which wouldn’t match anything in his wardrobe, told him it was almost six o’clock. He still had time.

He pulled himself up and looked at his tired reflection once more, something he’d been doing quite a lot of in the last couple of weeks.

‘Look at the state of you,’ he said to himself. ‘Forty-five years old and you’re panicking over what to wear. It’s a few drinks, that’s all. Just two people having a drink together. Where’s the harm in that?’ He gazed deep into himself as if expecting an answer. His face was red. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a gleam in his eyes.

Of course, it was more than just a few drinks. It was a date. An actual date. A trial run to see how two people, who, according to a computer seemed ideal for each other, would get on in reality. It was also his first in more than twenty-five years.

Following his divorce, and a long period of adjustment, Brian Appleby had thought he’d been left with a life of singledom, a life dedicated to himself and the things he enjoyed doing. He’d go on holidays with friends, trips to the theatre, and when he fancied being alone, he could watch a film on the sofa with his feet up and his socks off.

Unfortunately, life hadn’t worked out that way. All his friends had abandoned him, as had his family. He could understand that. He would probably have done the same in their position. At first, he’d tried to tell himself he didn’t care. Screw them. Yes, he’d made a number of mistakes, but he’d paid his price. Shouldn’t he be able to move on and continue with the rest of his life? Why couldn’t other people see that? Their loss. If they didn’t want him around, he’d find new friends.

That had been easier said than done. New friends were hard to come by; especially when you were a stranger with a past you refused to talk about. Again, he hadn’t cared, in the beginning. He enjoyed his own company. But evenings in front of the TV eating pizza and not talking to anyone had soon begun to take its toll. The tipping point had come when he’d walked into Domino’s and the young girl with greasy hair serving had looked at him and said: ‘Good evening, Brian. What are you in the mood for tonight?’ She knew his name. He knew her name. He knew the name of every member of staff. How far had he fallen that he personally knew the people who worked in his local takeaway? He had quickly ordered and made his escape, returning home to examine the pathetic existence his life had become.

His light at the end of the tunnel had come in the form of an advert on late-night television. A new website had been set up for the recently single looking to meet new people ‘for socializing, et cetera’. He hadn’t been too bothered about the ‘et cetera’, but he’d missed having someone to share his interests with.

He’d logged on, created a profile and spent a full evening trying to find a decent enough photograph of himself. That had been a task in itself as he hadn’t been able to remember the last time he’d had his picture taken. Actually, that wasn’t true. He could remember, but a police mugshot wasn’t something you used to attract a lady. Eventually, he’d resorted to taking a selfie, his first (and hopefully last) one. He’d surprised himself by how smart he looked in his suit and his neatly combed hair. Fingers crossed he looked completely different from the picture of him that had been slapped all over the tabloids.

After a week, he had chatted to eleven different women. None of them were his type; he didn’t have a type as such, but he knew that the ideal woman would jump out of the screen at him. Eventually, she did – a professional single woman named Adele Kean, a few years younger than him, attractive, ‘enjoyed the theatre, eating out, and a good film’. She ticked all the right boxes. She was the one.

Brian had spent an hour with a pad and pen drafting the perfect opening message to send to her. He’d wanted to make sure his spelling and punctuation were correct and tried to be funny without seeming desperate. He mentioned his recent trip to the Crucible (though he didn’t say it was only to watch the snooker) and how one of his favourite films was Rebecca starring Laurence Olivier, even though it was really Die Hard. He sent the email and waited impatiently for a reply.

His wait was a long one. It was five days before it arrived with an apology for her tardiness but she had been busy with work. She thanked Brian for his lovely message, said she had seen Rebecca, but it was years ago, and promised to look it up online next time she had a free evening. She also complimented him on his photograph and hoped she would hear from him soon. It was a good sign Adele hadn’t recognized who he was from his photograph. He had changed over the years, but he was worried he was still identifiable.

She heard from him very soon. Within thirty minutes of her reply landing in his inbox he was hitting the send button on his second message, the content of which seemed to come easier this time.

For a week, messages went back and forth – Brian was itching to suggest a meet but didn’t want to scare her off. On the Wednesday, Adele took the first step and offered her telephone number. His heart almost skipped a beat when he read that one.

Brian liked her accent – a mixture of Sheffield and Manchester. She was surprised she couldn’t hear any American in his since he’d told her he spent eight years teaching English in the States. He’d forgotten about the accent issue when he came up with that lie. He’d never even been to America. The conversation ran on without any awkwardness or silence and by the end of the chat they had arranged to meet for drinks the following evening outside the City Hall.

So, which was it to be, the pale grey tie or the sky-blue one? Or maybe no tie at all.

‘Damn it, Brian!’

Typically, it was raining. Typically, Brian was caught in traffic. Typically, Brian was five minutes late arriving at the City Hall.

He expected to get there and find the steps completely deserted. But was pleasantly surprised when he spotted her standing under the shelter of a large umbrella looking stunning and elegant in a long black coat.

He called out to her and she turned to him and smiled. She was so attractive, with a wonderful smile. She was perfect – exactly what he had been looking for.

‘Brian Appleby?’ she asked.

‘I am so sorry for being late. What is it with traffic when it rains? I was over twenty minutes on Chesterfield Road. I couldn’t believe it,’ he mumbled.

‘You don’t need to apologize it’s fine, honestly. I was a minute or two late myself.’

He smiled. ‘Shall we go into Lloyd’s for a drink?’

‘I’d like that,’ she replied.

The short walk to the pub was made in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. Out of the corner of his eye, Brian stole glances at the woman beside him. The slight breeze carried a hint of her scent – a subtle sweet perfume mixed with her natural aroma. He wanted to touch her, to feel her smooth skin on his fingers. No. Not yet.

‘What will you have?’

‘Gin and tonic, please.’

‘OK. Do you want to try and find a table while I get the drinks?’

For early Thursday evening, the pub was busy. Sheffield, undergoing a seemingly never-ending period of regeneration, was trying to get people to stay in the city centre after work rather than head straight home. A council campaign had been launched and a new cinema and several bars had opened. So far it seemed to be working.

Adele found a spot by the window and waited for Brian to return from the bar.

‘Don’t you drink?’ she asked, looking at the orange juice he’d brought for himself.

‘I’m driving.’

‘Oh.’

‘So, you’re a pathologist, you were saying on the phone last night? That must be interesting.’

‘It is,’ Adele beamed. ‘It’s a great job. Very time-consuming, but I do enjoy it.’

‘And you have a grown-up son?’

‘Chris. Yes, he’s twenty-one. He’s not long since left university and started his first job this week.’

‘What’s he doing?’

‘Same line you were in: teacher. It’s only temporary, to cover maternity leave, but who knows? It’s good experience too.’

‘Definitely. How’s the training going? I noticed you were limping slightly,’ Brian said.

‘Oh, that’s nothing, it’s these shoes,’ she smiled. ‘A friend of mine and I are training for a half-marathon. We’re raising money for a brain tumour charity. I lost someone close to me a couple of years ago. His wife and I are doing the race to raise money in his memory.’

There was a brief pause in the conversation as the topic slowly died and neither knew where to go next. They both took lingering sips of their drinks.

‘Do you run?’ Adele asked.

‘No. Dodgy knee. I walk a lot though. I like to get out into the country when I can.’

‘Oh yes, I remember you saying that’s why you chose to move to Sheffield.’

‘Yes, a large city but right on the doorstep of the countryside. It’s ideal.’

‘So why did you decide to return to England after eight years in the States?’

‘Well I was made redundant and rather than try to find work I thought I’d come home. I never intended to stay out there as long as I did.’

‘Why did you go in the first place?’ Adele asked, leaning forward. She seemed genuinely interested.

‘Well,’ he said, blowing out his cheeks. ‘I’d just split from the wife and wanted a clean break of things. I thought an ocean between us might help the healing process.’

‘Did it?’

‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘It did.’

‘I can still detect a London accent.’

‘Oh I’ll never lose that,’ he grinned. ‘Would you like another drink or shall we go for something to eat?’

Adele looked at her watch. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. There was plenty of time for a meal. They decided on another drink. Adele told him more about her work and her friends. Brian mentioned about his ex-wife and how he found her in bed with another woman. In the toilets he refused to look at his reflection; he genuinely liked this woman; how could he tell her so many lies?

***

By nine o’clock they were sitting at a table by the window in a restaurant in Leopold Square waiting for their starters.

Adele had been in here many times with Matilda and felt relaxed.

Brian looked around him like an excited child on his first trip to a theme park. The delight in his eyes soon disappeared when he noticed a woman staring at him. Her lingering glances were unsettling. Had she recognized him? If he’d taken Adele’s seat, his back would have been to the restaurant and he could have concentrated on his date. Shit.

‘Go on,’ Adele prompted.

‘Sorry?’

‘You were saying about your surprise visitor.’

‘What? Oh … yes.’ He tried to ignore the woman across the room, but it wasn’t easy. Why did she keep looking at him? ‘We were told there was going to be someone important visiting the school. We all thought it would probably be some reality TV so-called celebrity the kids would go crazy over but none of the teachers would recognize. I was halfway through my lesson when there was a knock on the door and in walked Michelle Obama.’

‘You’re joking!’ Adele gasped.

‘No word of a lie. It was incredible. She had all these security people with her with their dark glasses.’

‘Did you actually talk to her?’

‘I did. She sat in on the lesson for a while and watched the kids read then she came over and spoke to me. She asked where I was from and joked about my accent.’

‘What was she like?’

‘She was lovely. Very warm, welcoming, easy to talk to. She genuinely seemed interested.’

‘That’s brilliant. I love Michelle Obama,’ Adele said. ‘I’ve never met anyone famous. Well, no one alive anyway,’ she said, thinking back to a former soap star she once had on her pathology table.

‘No one alive? What are you, pathologist to the stars?’

‘Something like that.’ She smiled.

‘I bet you have a few stories to tell.’

‘Plenty. And not a single one of them appropriate over dinner,’ she said as the waitress arrived with their first course.

He looked over again at the woman. This time, she gave a hint of a smile and nodded her head at him. It was a knowing smile and he didn’t like it. Then, the penny dropped. Of course, she’d trimmed his hair this morning. Crisis averted.

‘Is this the first time you’ve used a dating website?’ Brian asked once the coffee had arrived at the end of their meal.

‘Yes. I was extremely nervous about it, if I’m honest. I’m not used to putting my life on a website like that. It was strange. We put so much of ourselves on the Internet, don’t we? I dread to think what will come up if I ever google myself.’ She smiled.

Brian googled himself on an almost daily basis. His life was laid bare for everyone to pore over. Fortunately, there wasn’t a recent photograph of him. Besides, who would be looking for him in Sheffield?

‘I know what you mean. Finding seventy-five words to describe yourself is harder than you expect. And I was suddenly very self-conscious about my height,’ he laughed.

‘I had a half-hour debate with my son over my eyes. I think they’re blue; he thinks they’re green.’

Brian leaned forward. ‘They’re definitely blue. A lovely warm blue.’

Adele blushed.

‘So.’ Brian sat back, obviously uncomfortable. ‘Why decide to do it now?’

‘Well, Chris doesn’t need looking after anymore. I’ve got my life back. Unfortunately, the world has changed since I last went on a date. This seems to be the way of doing things now. What about you? Wasn’t there anyone in America?’

‘No. Well, there were a few dates, but never anything long-lasting.’

‘Would you have stayed out there if there had been?’

‘I’m not sure. The longer I was there the more I missed England.’ He paused, ‘I’ve really enjoyed this evening, Adele. You’ve made me laugh for the first time in ages.’

Adele blushed as she smiled. ‘That’s kind of you to say, thank you.’

‘Would you like to meet up again?’

‘Yes. I’d like that.’

The bill arrived, and they agreed to pay half each without any argument. When they left, the temperature had dropped, and Adele shivered. Brian helped her with her coat and they made eye contact. He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. It lingered for a few seconds before Adele pulled away.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘No … I just …’

‘That’s OK. I understand. Take things slowly.’

‘Exactly. You don’t mind?’

‘No. Of course not. May I walk you to your car?’

‘I’m getting a taxi home.’

‘I’ll walk you to the taxi rank then.’

They shared another brief kiss at the taxi, and Brian closed the door once Adele was safely inside. As it pulled away from the kerb she turned back and waved. Brian waited until the taxi had turned the corner before he headed for the car park. He took out his mobile and opened up the photos app. He scrolled through the pictures he had taken of Adele standing outside the City Hall before they’d met. She smiled at a passer-by. She looked at her watch. She looked left and right, then left again. She paced. She checked the time once more. There was a reason he was a few minutes late. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Adele sat back in the taxi and found she had a silly smile on her face. She had just had the best date of her life. Brian was charming, funny, intelligent, and he didn’t seem to mind that she’d turned away from the kiss when his tongue started to intrude. She took her phone out of her bag and began sending a message.

On my way home. Great night. Brian was lovely.

The reply from her best friend, Matilda Darke, was almost instant.

Is he going home with you?

No he isn’t. I’m not that kind of woman.

You used to be, lol.

I’ve grown up a lot since then.

Will you be seeing him again?

Yes. I liked him a lot.

Any tongue action?

My lips are sealed.

Spoil sport.

We kissed. Twice. No tongue.

Hot! I hope he wore protection, lol.

‘I can’t park on your road, I’m afraid,’ the taxi driver said, interrupting Adele’s text conversation.

‘Sorry?’

‘There’s traffic on both sides and if this sodding Audi behind me gets any closer he’ll be performing a colonoscopy.’

Adele looked out of the back window but could see nothing but the bright headlights. ‘That’s fine. Park around the corner. I can walk.’

The taxi turned left and pulled up in front of a shop. The Audi shot round and drove down the road at speed.

‘Sorry about that, love. Some people shouldn’t be allowed on the road.’

‘Tell me about it,’ she agreed. Most of the people who came into her lab were the result of car-related deaths.

Adele paid the fare and tipped the driver. She turned her back to the taxi, buttoned her coat up to the neck against the stiff March breeze and headed for home.

Traffic wasn’t usually so bad on her street. There were cars parked bumper-to-bumper on both sides. Somebody must be having a party.

As she walked down the poorly lit road she checked her phone, the brightness lighting up her face. It was just after eleven o’clock, not too late then.

It was a quiet night, and a cold one. The stars were shining in their billions as Adele looked to the pitch-black sky. There wasn’t a cloud visible. She shivered and pulled the collar up on her designer coat. A dog barked somewhere. Its resounding call set off a chain – a cat meowed, another dog barked, an owl hooted.

Adele stopped dead in her tracks and looked about her. She couldn’t make up her mind if she had heard something or if it was her imagination. The loud clacking from her shoes echoed as she took long strides to the safety of her house. For some reason, she wanted to get home, quickly, and lock the door behind her.

As Adele reached her front door the security light came on. She realized her house keys were buried somewhere in her handbag. She grabbed for the keys and struggled to find the Yale to unlock the door. Her fingers were cold and shaking. She pushed it open and almost fell into the house, slamming it closed behind her. She put the safety chain on, locked the top and bottom bolts and came to rest with her back against the solid wood.

‘Chris?’ she called out to the dark, silent house. ‘Chris, are you home?’

She kicked off her expensive but painful shoes and sighed with relief. She headed for the kitchen when a dull thud from the living room caused her to stop in her tracks. There was someone in her house. If Chris was home, he would have made himself known by now.

She turned and studied the door. Her eyes were locked on the handle, as if waiting for it to be pushed down from the other side. She grabbed it, slowly depressed it, and opened the door carefully.

Adele opened it wide enough to put her arm through and flick on the living room light. The yellow glow made her squint. She listened intently but couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door. She pushed it fully open and froze in horror.

‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ she asked.

Brian Appleby hadn’t wanted the evening to end. He had had a wonderful time with Adele. The kiss at the end was beautiful. He thought he’d made a mistake when he tried to go further, but he understood. They had to get to know each other, what they liked, disliked, how quickly they wanted to take this. He was prepared to wait.

He took no notice of his journey home. He drove along Heeley and Woodseats while his mind went over the date and pictured Adele’s blushes and smiles. She really was a beautiful woman. Her hair was soft and shiny, she didn’t cake herself in too much make-up, her jewellery was understated yet elegant. Everything about her was as close to perfect as it was possible to get.

Brian parked in his usual place right outside his detached home on Linden Avenue. He smiled at a neighbour as she let her cat out for the night, then went inside.

It was ten past eleven. He decided to treat himself to a glass of Jameson’s or two in his armchair and go over the date one more time.

He turned on the living room light to find a man sitting in the middle of the sofa.

‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ Brian asked, his voice filled with anger at the boldness of his intruder.

‘Good evening, Brian. How was your date?’

‘What the …? Hang on, I know you, don’t I?’

‘Were you able to control yourself? Or did the old urges come flooding back? On the other hand, this one’s a little older than what you usually go for. Are you trying to be a model citizen? It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’

‘Have you been following me?’

‘Why don’t you take a seat, Brian. We’ve got a lot to talk about.’

‘How did you get in?’ he asked, not moving from the doorway.

‘If you’ll sit down, I’ll explain everything.’

Tentatively, Brian made his way over to the armchair, not once taking his eyes off his intruder. He sat, perched on the edge. ‘Go on then, explain. And if I don’t like what I hear I’m calling the police.’

‘I don’t think you’re going to want to do that.’

There was a calmness about his strange visitor that frightened Brian. How did he know so much about him? How long had he been following him?

‘Why not?’ Brian frowned.

‘See that bag on the coffee table? Open it.’

Brian looked down at the small tote bag. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s for you. A present.’

‘I don’t want it,’ he said defiantly.

‘Open it,’ the intruder said, more forcefully.

Still not taking his eyes from his visitor, Brian edged towards the coffee table and opened the light cotton bag. He frowned, not making sense of what was inside. He reached in and pulled it out.

‘Jesus Christ! Who are you?’

Chapter Two

DCI Matilda Darke couldn’t get used to her new car. The silver Ford Focus she had driven for years had been written off by the insurance company late last year after she’d swerved to avoid a head-on collision and crashed into a tree. Rather than upgrade to something shiny and modern, Matilda had opted for another silver Ford Focus. The only difference was the licence plate. That wasn’t technically true. It felt different. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but Matilda wanted her old car back. There was something familiar about it that couldn’t be replicated in the newer model.

She turned into Linden Avenue and quickly applied the brakes. Nothing wrong with those. Ahead of her was a crowd of onlookers, neighbours in dressing gowns, carpet slippers and hastily put on jogging bottoms and trainers. People who had left their homes and filled the road at the first sighting of a police car.

She climbed out of the car and had an iPhone thrust into her face.

‘DCI Darke, can you tell me what’s happened here?’

‘As you can see, I’ve just arrived.’

‘You must know something.’

‘And you are?’

‘Danny Hanson. Senior Crime Reporter on The Star.’

‘Ah! You’re Danny Hanson?’

He beamed at the fact a DCI knew who he was.

Matilda dug into her inside jacket pocket for her own iPhone, selected the camera and took a photo of the young journalist.

‘Did you just take my picture?’

‘I certainly did.’

‘Any reason why?’

‘I’d like to show my team who not to talk to when they attend a crime scene.’

Matilda reached the garden gate of the house she had been summoned to. Feeling the warm breath of the journalist on her neck she stopped and turned around. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, but looked younger. She wondered if he was still asked for ID when he bought a scratchcard. She gave him the once-over – the neatly messed-up dark brown hairstyle, the plain blue tie, the dark blue shirt, the skinny black jeans. He looked like an interviewee for his first Saturday job.

‘Is this to do with the Starling House case?’ he asked.

‘Not entirely. You’re the journalist who keeps calling me late at night, aren’t you? Where did you get my number?’

‘My predecessor,’ he said.

‘Your predecessor wasn’t at The Star long enough to get my number.’

‘Ah.’ He broke eye contact for the first time.

‘Ah indeed. You know, I admire ambition. However, there’s a fine line between ambition and breaking the law. Right now, you’ve passed the police tape; you’re breaking the law. Don’t worry, I’ll give you this one. Step out of line again and I’ll personally see you locked up. Understand?’

‘But I—’

Matilda held her hand up to silence him. ‘Trust me, you need to pay attention to what I’m saying. You’re young, you’re handsome, you’d be very popular in prison. Now, back on the other side of the tape,’ she said with a sinister smile.

‘You can’t just—’

‘Are you seriously trying to pick an argument with me? Go.’ She pointed. ‘And if you’re quick, you’ll be just in time for your PE lesson.’

Matilda turned away before Danny Hanson could reply. DC Kesinka Rani was waiting in the doorway of the house. She handed her a paper forensic suit, and Matilda flashed her warrant card to the uniformed officer standing guard.

‘Morning, Kes. I do enjoy a good quarrel with a journalist first thing.’ She slipped into the forensic suit, placed on the overshoes and stepped inside the detached house. ‘Make sure he’s shifted, won’t you?’ she said, looking over her shoulder at the lingering journalist.

‘Will do. Steve, could you?’ Kesinka asked the PC standing on the doorstep.

‘No problem.’ Steve left his post and grabbed Danny by the elbow. The reporter tried to shrug him off but winced under the grip of the PC.

It was a cold morning, and although there was no heating on inside the house and the front door was wide open, it was good to get out of the bitter spring air.

‘Why have I been called out to a suicide?’ Matilda asked.

‘It’s not your regular suicide.’

‘Is there such a thing as an irregular suicide?’

Kesinka didn’t reply. She pointed to the entrance to the living room and stepped back, inviting Matilda to see for herself.

‘Oh,’ was all Matilda could say upon entering the room.

The large living room stretched the entire length of the house. Close to the bay window overlooking the road was an oak dining table. On the wall was a display cabinet which housed a collection of silver trinkets. In the middle of the lounge was a cast-iron wood burner. There were a few logs inside but, judging by how clean it was, a fire hadn’t been lit in a while. An expensive-looking Chesterfield sofa and matching armchair pointed to a fifty-inch television in the corner. And, right at the back, in front of the patio doors, was a figure hanging by the neck from an exposed beam, a white pillowcase over his head.

Matilda stepped into the cold room. A body of white-suited forensic officers were busily dusting for prints on the patio door handles and taking photographs from every conceivable angle. In the corner, one officer was sketching, and another was laying a sheet directly beneath the swaying body.

‘Do we know who he is?’ Matilda asked quietly to Kesinka.

‘Not confirmed yet. Aaron’s upstairs with Ranjeet trying to find some ID.’

‘Who called it in?’

‘The woman next door was hanging some washing out. She just happened to look up and noticed someone hanging in the window.’

Matilda apologized as she squeezed past a forensic officer to peer through the glass. The border between this house and next door was a privet hedge measuring no more than four-feet high. It wasn’t very private, hence why the woman next door was able to make such a gruesome discovery.

‘Does she know who is living here?’

‘Yes.’ Kesinka took out her notebook. ‘First name is Brian. She thinks his surname is Appleton, but not one hundred per cent. He lives alone as far as she knows.’

Matilda looked back to the hanging body. ‘Has Dr Kean been called?’

‘I’ve no idea, ma’am.’

‘She has. There was no answer from her mobile,’ one of the forensic officers said.

Matilda frowned. She had no idea who had spoken to her. As she looked around the room she realized she only knew Kesinka.

‘Where’s my team?’ she whispered.

‘Aaron’s upstairs. Faith is next door with Mrs Fitzgerald. Sian’s still on annual leave, and Rory is off today, hospital appointment. Scott isn’t in until later. Oh, DI Brady left a message this morning. He’s broken a tooth and got an emergency appointment with the dentist.’

‘That’s a relief. For a moment I thought everyone had deserted me.’ She smiled. She walked back to the body and introduced herself to a scene of crime officer.

‘Diana Black, nice to meet you,’ came the reply in a strong West Country accent. Diana had only been living in South Yorkshire for three weeks, but the confidence in which she went about her work showed she had been doing this for a number of years. ‘I’ve taken plenty of photographs and close-ups of the neck and the fingers.’ She lifted up the left hand of the hanging man, which had been placed in a plastic evidence bag. ‘If you look closely you can see there’s some blood under his nails, possibly skin samples too. We should be able to get a match if there is. Now, I know it’s not my job, but I’ve had a feel of the neck and there is no broken bone. Plenty of bruising and rope burns, which suggests he struggled a lot.’

‘So not a suicide?’ Matilda asked. She had been lost in Diana’s accent. It made a change from the gruff thick Yorkshire she was surrounded with on a daily basis.

‘If it is, it’s the first case of suicide by hanging I’ve come across where the person has covered their face and I’ve been in this job almost thirty years.’

Matilda looked at Diana. Although she was wearing a white forensic suit with the hood up and a face mask on, her eyes were still visible. There didn’t appear to be any wrinkles, and her voice sounded light, young. If she had been working for nearly thirty years she had to be in her mid-fifties at least. Matilda wondered what face cream she used.

‘Also,’ Diana said, picking up an evidence bag from the box by her feet, ‘the contents of his pockets – car keys, loose change, parking stub. And he’s wearing outdoor shoes. I’ve never known anyone to hang themselves and look like they’ve just come home from a day at work.’

‘No wallet?’

‘There was one in his jacket pocket. I’ve bagged it but … sorry, can’t remember his name: tall bloke, looks miserable.’

‘DS Connolly?’ Matilda smiled at the perfect description of one of her sergeants.

‘That’s the one. He took it upstairs with him.’

‘Thanks, Diana. Any chance we can get our mystery man cut down and the hood removed?’

‘Sure. By the way, it’s a good old-fashioned hangman’s noose.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Thirteen twists in the rope – a proper hangman’s knot, or a “forbidden knot” they used to call it. I’m a bit of a geek when it comes to facts about killings. Too gruesome for Mastermind probably.’

Matilda walked away while the forensic officers set about carefully cutting the rope to lower the body to the floor. She dug out her mobile phone and rang Adele. It went straight to voicemail.

In the background, she heard Diana Black ask a colleague if he knew the name of the last man to be hanged in Britain. Matilda would have bet her salary Diana knew.

‘Adele, it’s Matilda. Can you give me a call when you get this message, please?’ She hung up and looked at the screen with a frown. It wasn’t like Adele to have her phone switched off.

‘Ma’am, you’re going to want to see this,’ Aaron Connolly called. By the sound of the heavy footfalls he was bounding down the stairs. Following him was the incredibly tall and unnecessarily handsome DC Ranjeet Deshwal.

‘Morning, Aaron, how’s Katrina?’ Matilda asked.

Aaron’s wife was eight months pregnant. She was suffering with endometriosis and pre-eclampsia and needed careful monitoring. Aaron had been full of excitement upon finding out he and his wife were finally going to become parents after years of trying. When her illnesses had been uncovered the dour expression he usually carried returned. All he needed was a long grey coat and he could be Idris Elba’s stand-in on an episode of Luther.

‘She’s at her mother’s, in Rhyl, for a couple of weeks, resting. I’ll be glad when she’s had this sodding baby. I’m going grey.’

Matilda smiled. ‘How long does she have left?’

‘She’s not due until April. I’ve told her, there’s no way we’re having a second.’ He swallowed and tried to laugh it off, but the stress and strain of an expectant father was etched on his face.

‘What am I going to want to see?’ Matilda was keen to enquire how Aaron was feeling and show she cared but felt uncomfortable whenever the topic strayed from anything work related. She’d also chosen the wrong time, as usual. Aaron was a very private man; he wasn’t going to want to talk about his personal issues surrounded by his colleagues. She wished she could be more like Sian Mills, the surrogate mother of the group who took everyone under her wing, including Matilda.

‘I’ve found a diary. Look at his appointments for yesterday.’

Matilda took the diary from him. Her eyes widened as she read down the page:

12:00 – hairdressers

13:30 – collect jacket from dry cleaners

19:00 – Adele Kean @ City Hall

Matilda turned back to the body, which was carefully being lowered into a body bag. ‘Jesus Christ! Who the hell is he?’

Chapter Three

Matilda dialled Adele’s number as she sat in traffic on Chesterfield Road, but again it went straight to voicemail. Matilda immediately thought the worst. Once the traffic began to clear, she slammed her foot down on the accelerator and headed for the city centre. She had to pass Adele’s office on the way to her house in Hillsborough, so turned off to see if she’d arrived late for some reason.

Matilda was let into the building and ran along the corridor to the post-mortem suite. She pulled open the door and was hit by how bright it was compared to the dull morning outside. There was a woman in the corner of the room she had never seen before.

‘Hello,’ Matilda called out. ‘I’m looking for Dr Kean. Is she in yet?’

‘No. Can I give her a message?’

Matilda frowned. ‘Who are you?’

‘Lucy Dauman. I’m Dr Kean’s assistant,’ she said, flicking her blonde hair back.

‘What happened to Victoria?’

‘She left last week. She’s moved to Stockport.’

‘Oh I see.’ Another new face. ‘If she comes in make sure she rings me straight away, even before she takes her coat off.’

‘OK,’ Lucy said, looking perplexed. ‘And you are?’

‘I’m DCI Matilda Darke,’ Matilda replied testily.

‘And she has your number, does she?’

‘Just get her to call me,’ Matilda replied with anger, already halfway out of the door.

Now Matilda was panicking. It was unusual for Adele not to be in work. It was almost unheard of for her to be out of work and not answering her phone. Matilda’s mind raced ahead and came up with all kinds of scenarios. Did she go to sleep last night and not wake up this morning? They had been training hard for the half-marathon next month. She tried not to think about the worst-case scenario, but it wasn’t possible. An image entered her mind of Adele hanging lifelessly from a light fitting, a noose tied around her neck.

As she drove out of the centre of town, Matilda remembered the texts they had sent to each other following Adele’s date. They’d had a lovely evening. They’d kissed. They’d gone their separate ways. That was the last she heard from her. She was in the taxi on her way home. What if she hadn’t got there? Taxi drivers were at the centre of the Rotherham abuse scandal. What if Adele had been attacked in the back of the taxi and was lying dead in a ditch somewhere?

Matilda knew it was selfish, but all she could think about was what would happen to her if Adele was dead? She was all she had. Since Matilda’s husband, James, had died she had relied on Adele to keep her sane. She was always there whenever she needed her. Without her, she was completely alone.

‘You selfish bitch,’ she chastised herself as she ran through a red light.

Matilda turned into Adele’s road at speed, almost mounting the kerb. She pulled into the first available parking space without indicating, ignoring the four-letter tirade from the driver of a BMW behind her. She ripped off her seatbelt, slammed the car door behind her and ran to Adele’s house. She looked up and saw closed curtains in all the windows. The house seemed to be in silence.

‘Shit,’ Matilda said to herself.

Matilda had had a copy of Adele’s key for as long as she could remember, but, until now, she had never had cause to use it.

Shutting the front door behind her, she stood in the hallway and listened tentatively for some sign of life. There was nothing. All she could hear was a distant clock ticking, the hum from the fridge in the kitchen and the sound of the central heating rattling through the house. And her own heart pounding in her chest. As she stepped along the hallway she dreaded what she was going to find.

‘Adele, Adele,’ Matilda called out. ‘Are you in?’

‘Of course I’m in,’ Adele replied, stepping out of the kitchen into the hallway.

‘Oh my God, what the hell’s happened to you?’ Matilda asked noticing the black eye on her friend’s face.

‘I’ve been burgled.’

‘What?’

‘I got home last night and there was a man in the living room. I must have disturbed him. He ran past, gave me a backhander, and left.’

‘Why didn’t you call?’ Matilda asked. Her voice was full of concern. She leaned in to get a better look at Adele’s face. Her left eye was purple.

‘I dialled 999 and was told to report it to my local police station. I called 101 and they gave me an incident number to give to my insurance company.’

Adele made her way into the kitchen, and Matilda followed. She looked around but there was no mess in here, apart from a glass panel missing from the back door. There was a small piece of plywood nailed over the hole.

‘Has anything been taken?’

‘Fortunately, no. It looks like he came through here and went straight into the living room. He opened some drawers but left empty-handed.’

A tear fell down Adele’s face, and Matilda pulled her into a tight hug. ‘You should have called.’

‘I was going to, but Chris came home not long after me and we started to tidy up. When we realized the police weren’t coming out, we made the back door secure. By then it was after two o’clock.’

‘Where’s Chris now?’ Matilda released Adele and walked her to the breakfast table. She sat her down and went to make them both a coffee.

‘He’s gone to get some locks.’ She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes. ‘I’ve never been burgled before.’

‘Neither have I.’ Matilda filled two mugs from the boiling water tap and took the coffee over to the table. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Sick. Why do people think they can just come into someone else’s house and help themselves?’ Adele’s voice broke as the emotion got the better of her.

‘I don’t know, Adele.’

‘And why don’t you investigate anymore? I’ve been given an incident number. Nobody’s coming out to check for prints or anything.’

Matilda turned to her friend with a blank expression. She had no idea what to say.

‘I’m sorry,’ Adele said. ‘It’s like you asking me why people die.’

‘Do you want to come and stay with me for a few days?’

‘No. Thanks, but I have to carry on as normal. If I went to stay at your house I wouldn’t come back. It’s a good job my date was last night and not tonight with this shiner.’

Matilda’s face dropped as she suddenly remembered the hanging man at a house in Linden Avenue. She looked to the floor, not sure how to proceed.

‘What’s wrong?’ Adele asked.

Matilda and Adele had known each other for twenty years, give or take. They were more than colleagues, they were best friends. Together, they were strong enough to cope with anything. What Matilda was about to say would test that strength.

‘Adele, the bloke you went out with last night—’

‘Brian,’ Adele interrupted.

Matilda took a deep breath. ‘He wasn’t called Brian Appleby, was he?’

‘Yes. How did you …? Oh God. What’s happened?’

‘Adele, I was called out to a house this morning in Linden Avenue. A man was found hanging in his living room.’

‘Hanging? You mean he committed suicide? Jesus! What does that say about me? He went home after our first date and hanged himself?’ Tears rolled down Adele’s face.

‘No. Adele, he didn’t kill himself.’

‘What?’

‘We think he was murdered.’

Adele stood up and went to the counter, tore off a few sheets of kitchen roll and dried her eyes. She loudly blew her nose and rubbed it red with the rough paper. ‘Murdered?’ she asked. ‘I don’t …? This doesn’t make any sense.’

‘Obviously I’ll have to wait for the results from Forensics and I’ll need to draft in a new pathologist, but I’m pretty certain he was murdered.’

‘Oh no. Oh God, no.’ Adele moved over to the sofa in the corner of the kitchen and slumped into it. ‘He was a lovely man. Why would anyone do such a thing? What was it, a robbery or something?’

‘I’ve no idea yet, Adele.’ Matilda frowned. Her mind started working in overdrive. Adele and Brian go out on a date; by the next morning one has been burgled and one has been murdered. Coincidence? ‘What can you tell me about him?’ Matilda asked, moving over to sit next to her friend.

‘I’m not sure really.’ Adele composed herself and ran her fingers through her knotted hair. ‘He’s not been back in England long. He’s been living in America. He’s from somewhere down south originally. Essex, I think he said.’

‘Any family?’

‘He didn’t say. There’s an ex-wife but no kids. I can’t believe it. I really liked him.’

Matilda’s phone started ringing, and she looked at the display. It was Aaron. ‘I’m going to need to take this.’

Matilda waited until she was out in the hallway before she answered, and then she kept her voice low.

‘Ma’am, I just want to let you know that I’ve found some photo ID and shown it to the neighbour. Forensics have removed the hood covering his face and it matches his passport.’

‘So it is the man who lives there then?’ Matilda asked, not wanting to say Brian’s name in case Adele overheard.

‘Brian Appleby, yes. The thing is, I’ve run his name through the PNC – the bloke’s a nonce.’

‘Sorry?’

‘He’s on the sex offender’s register. He got out of Ashfield Prison, in Gloucestershire, last year after spending eight years in prison for a series of sexual assaults on young girls.’

‘Bloody hell!’

Matilda ended the call and turned back to the kitchen. Through the gap in the door she saw Adele sitting on the leather sofa tearing the kitchen roll with shaking fingers. She looked up at Matilda with a tear-stained face and a swollen eye. She had seen her upset and sad in the past but now she seemed vulnerable. How could Matilda go in there and tell her the first date she had been on in more than twenty years was with a convicted sex offender?

Chapter Four

‘Why weren’t we told there was a sex offender living on our patch?’

DCI Matilda Darke was in her tiny, cluttered office with the door closed. DS Aaron Connolly was in front of her desk with a thick file in his hand.

‘I’ve no idea. According to this, when he was released from prison, he went back to his home in Essex, but was more or less forced out by the neighbours. He decided on a fresh start in Sheffield and informed Essex Police of his intentions. They were fine with him moving, probably just glad to get rid of him. He was in touch with his probation officer on a regular basis and did everything right.’

‘Until he came here and didn’t even bother informing us.’

‘That’s what it looks like.’

‘How long has he been out of prison?’

‘He was released in January last year.’

‘So how did he afford such a nice house in Linden Avenue?’

‘I’ve no idea, ma’am.’

Matilda looked past Aaron out into the incident room. The lack of officers was startling. It seemed unnervingly quiet too, though that probably had something to do with the absence of DC Rory Fleming who could frequently be heard above everyone else, even when the room was at full capacity.

‘Aaron, go back to his house and give it a thorough going over. I want to know everything about this Brian Appleby. What’s he been doing since last January? Why did he choose Sheffield? Talk to the neighbours – don’t mention he was a sex offender though – and find out what they know about him. What he did for a living, the usual stuff.’

‘Will do.’

‘Is that his police file?’ Matilda asked as Aaron was about to leave.

‘Yes.’

‘Leave it with me.’

He handed it to her. ‘I was thinking, Brian was a sex offender and his murder looks like an execution. Vigilante?’

‘I was thinking that myself,’ Matilda said, running her fingers through her hair. ‘But who knew he was here when even we didn’t?’

‘Maybe someone followed him up from Essex.’

‘It’s possible. I don’t like vigilantes,’ she said, turning to the window. She rolled her eyes at the uninspiring view. ‘They’re unpredictable, they’re violent, and there’s usually more than one victim.’

It was strange looking through the one-way mirror and seeing someone she knew sitting nervously in an interview room. Standing in the observation bay, Matilda watched Adele. Less than twenty-four hours ago she was in a restaurant with a charming man having a delicious meal and a pleasant conversation. Now, that man was dead, murdered, and Adele had been the last person to see him alive.

The door opened and the diminutive Assistant Chief Constable Valerie Masterson entered and joined Matilda. Still dressed in her overcoat and wearing a woollen hat a couple of sizes too big, she had obviously come straight from the car park.

‘I’ve just heard. How is she?’ Valerie asked, nodding towards Adele through the glass.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Who gave her that black eye?’

‘She surprised a burglar last night.’

‘Are the two connected?’

‘I don’t know. I doubt it. I’ll look into it, though.’

‘I hope you’re not intending on interviewing Dr Kean yourself.’ Valerie’s concern for Adele didn’t last and quickly turned to admonishment.

‘Of course not.’ I would have done if you hadn’t turned up.

‘Do I need to bring in someone else to run this investigation?’ Valerie asked staring intently at her DCI.

‘No. I’m more than capable of detaching myself.’

Valerie rolled her eyes, though Matilda didn’t see. She was fixed on Adele. ‘Matilda, I know the two of you are close. I don’t want your friendship getting in the way of a murder investigation.’

‘It won’t.’ Matilda turned to look at her boss. ‘I guarantee it.’

Matilda brushed past the ACC and into the corridor, where Chris Kean, Adele’s son, was waiting. He’d changed dramatically since finishing university. Gone were the unruly hair and sombre scowl of the modern-day student, the dour expression of a generation with the worry of the entire universe on their shoulders. He had been transformed into a member of the working society. He was smart, neat, tidy, handsome, and had put on a little muscle thanks to the training he’d been doing with his mother and Matilda for the half-marathon.

As soon as he saw Matilda he jumped up from his seat. ‘How’s my mum?’ he asked, the look of worry had returned.

‘She’s fine, Chris. There’s nothing to be concerned about. We just need to talk to her about her date, that’s all.’

‘Are you going to interview her?’

Matilda looked back at the observation room, wondering if Valerie was listening. She lowered her voice. ‘No, Chris. I’m not allowed.’

‘Why not? She’d feel more comfortable with you in there.’

‘I know, but it’s a conflict of interest. We’re friends. It would be the same if you were in there. I’m sorry. She’s going to be interviewed by Aaron and Scott. She knows them; she’s worked alongside them for years. She’ll be fine. Trust me.’

‘But why are they allowed to interview her if they know her yet you’re not?’

‘Because they’ve never held her hair while she’s vomited a bottle of Prosecco down a toilet.’ Matilda smiled but Chris didn’t seem to see the funny side. ‘Look, Chris, you shouldn’t be here. You’ll have to wait in reception.’

Chris sat back down, slumping heavily into the plastic chair. ‘It’s all my fault.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Matilda asked sitting next to him.

‘I’ve been badgering her for months to go on the dating sites, meet someone,’ he sniffled. ‘She’s lonely, Mat. I can see it in her eyes. She says she’s not, but she is.’

‘I know, Chris. I blame myself too.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve been so wrapped up in myself. Your mum is my best friend. She’s always been there for me and I should have been a better friend in return.’

‘You’ve been a great friend. You helped her when she first came to Sheffield.’

‘That was twenty years ago,’ Matilda scoffed. ‘It’s time I moved on. I need to start embracing life more, going out, enjoying myself. I think me and your mother deserve a holiday.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’ Matilda found herself smiling. ‘We should go somewhere warm with a beach, plenty of bars, maybe sing karaoke and chat up some blokes.’

Chris smiled but looked embarrassed.

‘Chris, you shouldn’t worry about your mum. You’re just starting out in life, you need to find out who you are, travel, meet new people, move away maybe. Your mum is going to be fine. I’ll see to that.’

‘You promise?’

‘Girl Guide’s honour,’ Matilda said, raising her right hand and giving the three-fingered salute.

‘You were a Girl Guide?’ He sniggered.

‘Well, not for long, I swore at the Patrol Leader – on more than one occasion. Come on, I’ll take you through to reception. If the ACC sees you here we’ll both be in trouble.’

DC Scott Andrews had been called in early. With Sian Mills on leave to decorate her house following the aftermath of her home being flooded, Matilda wanted someone alongside DS Aaron Connolly who Adele knew and liked. This would be a formal and recorded interview, but it needed to be as unobtrusive and sensitive as possible.

Matilda met Scott in the hallway in reception. He walked towards her carrying a tray of drinks.

‘I’ve snatched a few chocolate bars from Sian’s drawer too. I thought it might make things seem a bit more relaxed.’

Dressed in a dark grey suit with white shirt and grey tie, Scott looked his usual smart and dapper self. His hair had been recently trimmed. He was the embodiment of style. Today, however, his smooth complexion was one of worry. Adele was a regular figure in the station: everyone knew her, liked her, and respected her. Nobody wanted to see her interrogated.

‘Are you OK to do this?’ Matilda asked, noting his furrowed brow.

‘Of course. Who’s that?’ He lowered his voice and nodded at Chris Kean who was frantically chewing his nails.

‘That’s Adele’s son.’

‘Blimey, she doesn’t look old enough to have a son that age.’

‘Open with that line and you’ll have a friend for life.’ She opened the door for Scott and followed him through towards the interview suites.

‘Aaron!’ Matilda called to DS Connolly, who was talking to DC Easter. He made his excuses and joined Matilda outside interview room one. ‘Just the facts, Aaron. Don’t be too personal. We know Adele, she’s not a suspect,’ Matilda warned.

‘Yes, boss.’

Matilda watched as Scott and Aaron entered the room. She hoped to give Adele a reassuring smile, but she didn’t look up from the table. The door closed, and Matilda was left in the corridor. She went into the observation room. She may not be able to conduct the interview, but there was no way she was going to allow it to be unsupervised.

‘Friday, 10th of March 2017. Interview with Adele Kean. Those present are myself, Detective Constable Scott Andrews—’

‘Detective Sergeant Aaron Connolly.’

Scott nodded at Adele when she didn’t speak.

‘Oh, sorry, Doctor Adele Kean,’ her voice was broken and soft.

‘Dr Kean, you are not under arrest and you haven’t been cautioned. This is a formal interview, as we believe you to be the last person to see Brian Appleby alive. Do you understand?’

Adele nodded.

‘You’re going to have to reply for the benefit of the recording,’ Scott said, leaning forward, his voice gentle and low.

‘I’m sorry. This is all new to me. Yes. I understand.’

‘Adele, can you tell me how you came to meet Brian Appleby?’ Aaron said, sitting back in his chair.

Adele closed her eyes and shook her head. She wasn’t embarrassed about using a website to find a man, everyone did it these days, she just hoped she wasn’t asked why she wanted to find a soulmate in the first place. That, she was embarrassed about.

‘It was a dating website aimed at people of mature years.’

‘Who made contact first?’

‘He did.’

‘How long after the first message did you arrange to meet?’

‘Just over a week, I think.’

‘And who chose the date and time to meet?’

‘I did.’

‘Did he arrive on his own?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was there anyone watching or following you? Did you see anyone acting suspiciously?’

Adele frowned. ‘No. Well, I don’t think so. I didn’t take much notice of anyone else.’

‘Where did you go when you’d met?’

‘Lloyd’s Bar. We had a couple of drinks then on to Zizzi’s for a meal.’

‘Was there anyone in Lloyd’s Bar who you thought might be watching you or Brian?’

‘No. I was just out having a drink, I wasn’t looking for anyone watching us. I mean, you don’t, do you? I’m not a paranoid person.’

‘It’s OK, Adele, try and relax,’ Scott jumped in.

Adele took a deep breath. She had a sip of her tea, but it tasted foul. ‘We had a lovely evening together. We had a meal, a good chat, swapped stories, and then went our separate ways. That was all.’

‘What did he tell you about his past?’

Adele shook her head. What he had said had obviously been a lie. She couldn’t believe she had been duped. ‘He told me he’d been living in America for eight years. He said he was an English teacher.’

‘He didn’t mention having been in prison?’

She flinched at the word. ‘Of course he didn’t,’ she raised her voice. ‘If I knew that I would have walked out of the restaurant.’

‘What else did he tell you about himself?’ Aaron asked.

‘He said he was divorced. His wife had cheated on him with another woman. He’d moved to America to put some distance between them. I felt sorry for him. Can you believe that? I actually felt sorry for him.’

‘Adele, you didn’t know,’ Scott said, taking on the role of a friend. ‘There’s no way you could have known.’

‘Are you going to tell me what he’d done?’ she asked. Matilda had only told her the basics in the car on the way to the station: that he had been killed and was known to the police. When pressed further, Matilda claimed she didn’t know all the facts herself.

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘No.’ She half-smiled.

‘How did Brian seem last night?’ Aaron asked, remaining focused and formal.

Adele thought for a while. ‘Nervous to begin with, but then so was I. We both soon relaxed. He was chatty, he smiled, he laughed. He came across like any other normal member of the public.’

‘How did the date end?’

Adele baulked at the word date. It was like she was reviled for having a date with a criminal. ‘He walked me to the taxi rank opposite John Lewis. We kissed and said we’d arrange to go out again. I went home.’

‘Did Brian say how he was getting home?’

‘He was driving.’

‘Did he drink alcohol during your date?’ Scott asked.

‘No. He had juice.’

‘Did you see which direction he headed in after he’d left you at the taxi rank?’

‘No. As my taxi pulled away I turned to look through the rear window and he was still stood on the pavement. He waved. I waved back. That was it.’

‘Adele,’ Scott adjusted himself in his seat, ‘when you arrived home, did Brian contact you anymore that night?’

‘No.’

‘Did anything out of the ordinary happen?’

‘You mean apart from being burgled?’

The detectives remained silent, giving Adele a chance to relax and calm down a little before continuing.

‘Did you recognize the person burgling your home?’

‘No. It all happened so quickly. He was dressed in dark clothing.’

‘You’re sure it was a man?’

‘He was tall, a great big barrel. Yes, he was a man.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘No. He looked at me and ran towards me. I just froze. The next thing I know there’s this gloved fist in my face and I’m on the floor.’

‘Did you lose consciousness?’

‘No. I was just a bit dazed.’ Adele wiped her nose with a soaked tissue. She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to know what Brian had done, but do you think I was set up? Get me out of the house then burgle me?’

Scott and Aaron exchanged glances. ‘I don’t think so, Adele,’ Scott said.

‘It’s bad, isn’t it? What he did. He didn’t spend eight years in prison for being a serial burglar, did he?’

‘No.’

‘I … No. Don’t tell me,’ she said before bursting into tears. She eventually stopped enough to speak. She looked up. ‘He was a rapist, wasn’t he?’

Scott turned away. He had no idea what to say.

Aaron leaned forward and placed his hand over Adele’s. ‘I’m only telling you this now because you’re in such a state. There’s no point in you getting better, then finding out afterwards and feeling all shit again. Brian Appleby was on the sex offender’s register.’

The tears stopped flowing. ‘The bastard,’ Adele hissed.

In the observation room, Matilda was slumped into a very uncomfortable chair. She had one hand clamped to her mouth. Her eyes were full of tears. She couldn’t imagine the torment Adele was going through right now.

Chapter Five

‘In 2008, Brian Appleby was sentenced to sixteen years for sexual offences on three girls under the age of sixteen. He was released from Ashfield Prison, in Gloucestershire, in January last year after serving half of his sentence.’

The briefing room was packed with detectives and uniformed officers. Matilda Darke was perched on the edge of a desk near the front. Her face was a picture of worry. She had just observed her best friend describe her date with a sex offender. It had been a horrible experience. Adele was usually a confident, positive person, but this could damage that.

As soon as the interview had concluded, Adele had been allowed to leave the station. Matilda had said she would go round straight after work and see how she was. She hoped she would be welcomed when she knocked on the door.

‘Police first became aware of Brian Appleby when Daisy Bishop, the fourteen-year-old daughter of his next-door neighbour, accused him of putting his hand up her skirt in the summer of 2008,’ Aaron continued, reading from the file to the whole room. ‘Once that came to light, two other girls made allegations: Allegra Chalmers said he had sex with her on two occasions in 2007, and Bryony Watts accused him of raping her, also in 2007.’

‘How old were Allegra and Bryony?’ DI Christian Brady said. Having just had a tooth extracted that morning, the left side of his face was slightly swollen, his speech affected.

‘Allegra was fifteen and Bryony thirteen.’

‘Bastard,’ Christian muttered, immediately thinking of his own young children.

‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ Ranjeet said. Nodding from other officers around the room showed they shared his sentiment.

‘So he’s released from prison in January and goes home to Essex. Why doesn’t he stay there?’ Scott asked.

‘Hate mail, windows broken, spat at in the streets. He was basically run out of town,’ Aaron said.

‘Why did he choose Sheffield?’

‘No idea. His wife divorced him a year after he was sentenced. His parents and two brothers disowned him. He has no connections at all with Sheffield.’

‘When did he move up here?’ Scott asked.

Aaron flicked through the file. ‘He approached Essex Police in the summer. He last visited them in August, telling them he’d found a place to live in Sheffield.’

‘Aaron, what did you find in his house?’ Matilda asked for the first time.

‘Nothing that stands out. He was a very meticulous man though. He kept and filed all his receipts and bank statements. Everything was neat and tidy. There’s an address book but I haven’t had time to go through it all yet. I had an email from Forensics who have searched his laptop and there’s nothing on it. He used it mostly for shopping. There’s no pornography on there, no questionable websites visited, a few photos of family, that’s it.’

‘Could it have been wiped?’

‘Maybe, but Forensics would have been able to tell. There is, however, one very creepy piece of evidence we’ve found.’

‘Go on,’ Matilda instructed.

‘His mobile phone. It was in his inside jacket pocket. While looking through it, Forensics found eighteen photographs of Adele Kean standing outside the City Hall. The timestamp on them matches the time Dr Kean says they met. It looks like he was taking her picture without her realizing before they met.’

‘Pervert,’ Ranjeet uttered.

Matilda bit her bottom lip. She wondered how close Adele came to being harmed by this man. ‘Keep that between us,’ she told the room. ‘Adele doesn’t need to know about that.’

‘Agreed,’ Christian struggled to say.

Matilda frowned. ‘If he was so meticulous and well-organized, why didn’t he report himself to South Yorkshire Police when he arrived here?’

There was no reply because nobody could give one.

‘I’d like to know how he could afford such a lovely house when he didn’t work,’ Faith said, opening a fun-size packet of Maltesers from Sian’s drawer.

‘The house was rented,’ Aaron said. ‘Private landlord. Brian had the money because he’d sold his home in Essex for over half a million pounds. That was reduced, too, for a quick sale.’

‘Didn’t his wife get the house in the divorce?’

‘According to her witness statement in the file,’ Aaron said, flicking through the paperwork, ‘she wanted nothing to do with him at all.’

‘I can understand that,’ Faith said. ‘Who would stay married to a pervert?’

‘So, who would want him dead?’ Scott asked.

‘The family of the victims would be high up on the list, I’m guessing,’ Faith said.

‘But how did they know where to find him? He’s hardly likely to leave a forwarding address with the new owners in Essex, is he? Also, if we didn’t know he was here, how could anyone else?’ Matilda asked.

‘We need to speak to Essex Police,’ Christian mumbled. There was a slight ripple of laughter at his struggled attempt to pronounce Essex. ‘Faith, how did you get on with the neighbours?’

‘The standard reply – he kept himself to himself, seemed like a nice man, always said hello when he saw you in the street, quiet, no loud music or parties. The perfect neighbour.’

‘People are often quiet and keep themselves to themselves for a reason,’ Scott said.

‘That’s pretty cynical, Scott. People can be quiet because they want to live their life how they want to. Not everyone has to be the life and soul of the neighbourhood,’ Faith said.

‘I know that. I just meant, people have secrets. We all do. If we don’t want those secrets getting out, then we stay in the background.’

‘So what’s your secret then, Scott?’ Faith asked, a mischievous smile on her face.

‘I think we’re wandering from the point here,’ Matilda said before Scott could reply. ‘What we need to do next is find out who knew Brian was a sex offender and who knew where he was living. He wasn’t working, so we have no colleagues to ask. His neighbours have all been interviewed, so who else is there?’

Again, the room went quiet.

‘Maybe the answer lies in his life before he came to Sheffield. Question his family, former neighbours, find out where they were last night.’

‘I hope sending officers to Essex isn’t coming out of my budget,’ Christian said.

‘It’s not coming out of anyone’s budget. We’ll get Essex Police to go round and interview them for us. In the meantime, this stays in this room. I don’t want anyone talking to the press about a sex offender being murdered. Speaking of which,’ Matilda said, pointing to a photograph on the wall, ‘you will notice we have a new addition to our wall of shame. That is Danny Hanson. He’s a journalist on The Star and fancies himself as some kind of maverick reporter. Memorize that face. If you see him, ignore him. Now, ladies, he’s young, he’s good-looking, don’t let him bewitch you with those puppy eyes. Understand?’

There were sniggers from around the room.

‘Ma’am,’ Faith asked, raising her hand slightly. ‘Shouldn’t we contact other people on the sex offender’s register in the area, see if they’ve been followed or noticed anything suspicious lately?’

‘Not yet. We’ll put that on the back burner.’

The door to the CID suite burst open and a flustered DC Kesinka Rani charged into the room. ‘Ma’am, you’re not going to believe this. I’ve just had a call from the Northern General. Alec Routledge has been admitted to intensive care in the early hours of this morning. He’s been badly beaten and stabbed.’

‘Who’s Alec Routledge?’

‘He’s a sex offender.’

Chapter Six

The journey to the Northern General Hospital was conducted in silence. DC Faith Easter had volunteered to drive Matilda, and Kesinka Rani was in the back, reading through Alec Routledge’s file that Scott had emailed to her phone.

‘Alec Routledge is a paedophile,’ Kesinka punctured the silence with the disturbing statement. ‘Released from prison in 2013 and has lived in Sheffield ever since. He was a football coach and abused eight boys on his team between 1994 and 1997. Sentenced to twenty years and released after sixteen. Parole was refused three times before eventually convincing a panel he had been rehabilitated.’

‘What is so attractive about Sheffield to sex offenders?’ Faith asked.

‘Have there been any other incidents involving attacks on him recently?’ Matilda asked, ignoring Faith. She didn’t turn around in her seat to look at Kesinka. She sat facing forward, watching the outside world blur past her at forty miles per hour.

‘No. Well, if there have been he hasn’t reported them.’

‘So why now?’

‘No idea. According to uniform, neighbours heard a commotion during the night but, to be fair, when isn’t there a commotion on Gleadless? Alec was found by his sister when she came to pick him up this morning. He didn’t answer the door, so she let herself in with her key.’

‘Pick him up? Where were they going?’

‘To visit their mother in a nursing home.’

‘Do you have a photograph of Alec Routledge?’

Kesinka handed her phone to Matilda. Alec was in his mid-sixties. He was only five-foot seven inches tall, slight build, grey hair, what was left of it, and a harsh, weather-beaten face.

‘Is this a recent photograph?’

‘Last couple of years or so.’

‘Hmm,’ Matilda mused.

‘What is it, ma’am? Don’t you think it’s related?’

‘No. Brian Appleby was hanged. He was over six foot, well-built and broad, yet someone managed to hang him. Why couldn’t they do the same to Alec Routledge? He wouldn’t have taken any time to overpower.’

Standing outside the room in ICU was PC Steve Harrison. He stood tall and cut a dashing figure in his uniform. The impression his face was giving was one of boredom.

‘Any news?’ Matilda asked.

‘None whatsoever. A fine way to spend your birthday.’

‘Is it your birthday?’ Kesinka asked, a grin on her face. ‘Happy birthday. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-nine.’

‘Are you doing anything to celebrate?’

‘I’m going out for a meal with my girlfriend. With any luck,’ he said, stealing a sidelong glance at Matilda.

Matilda wasn’t listening. She was staring through the window at a comatose Alec Routledge, hooked up to tubes and wires leading to breathing machines and heart rate monitors. His face was a mess of purple bruises, red marks and white padding. His features were unrecognizable. A woman sat by his bed, who Matilda took to be his sister, looking down at the floor and dabbing her eyes with a crumpled tissue.

‘Kes, go and have a word with her. I want to know everything about him, especially who he interacts with. Faith, speak to the nurses, see what his chances are.’

‘What about me, ma’am? Do I have to stay here?’ PC Harrison asked.

‘For the time being, yes,’ she replied while walking away to the end of the corridor.

Last November, DC Rory Fleming had been attacked by a convicted killer while he was being interviewed at the station. The teenager had leapt across the table and began senselessly pummelling Rory with his fists, raining down blow after blow. By the time Matilda reached him Rory was unconscious. He was rushed straight to theatre where he underwent an operation to relieve swelling and internal bleeding on his brain. When he eventually woke up, the first thing he was concerned about was his hair, which had been shaved.

He had been signed off work for the rest of the year and returned at the end of January. The bruises had gone, and his hair had grown back. The once well-built and toned detective was now slightly thinner and had a gaunt look about him. He took this as an excuse to raid Sian’s snack drawer at every opportunity.

While on her way to the Northern General, Matilda had sent Rory a text asking where he was. She found him in a large waiting room staring up at a silent television screen showing a dull mid-afternoon antiques programme with subtitles. She sat down next to him.

‘How’s it going?’

‘Hello, boss. I’m OK. I had enough of daytime TV when I was at home recovering, now I’ve got it here too.’ He nodded towards the television.

‘Just a routine check-up, is it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any problems?’

‘No.’

Matilda blamed herself for Rory’s attack. She should have kept a closer eye on him. He had taken the Starling House case to heart, was eager to know what turned a teenage boy into a killer. His questions had led to him being beaten, and Matilda would never forgive herself.

‘Is everything OK?’

‘Yes, everything’s fine. I’m expecting to get discharged today. If they ever call me in.’

‘Running late?’

‘Yes. Forty minutes. I’ve been X-rayed, had my blood pressure checked, and spoken to a psychiatric nurse. I’m just waiting to see the consultant. They don’t rush, do they?’

‘They don’t have to. I had a call yesterday about Callum Nixon.’

Callum Nixon was the teenage killer who had attacked Rory. He had been sentenced to life in prison for murdering two teachers in Liverpool. He had recently been moved to a YOI yet spent most of his days isolated from the rest of the inmates.

‘He’s had another ten years added to his sentence.’

‘Considering he was in prison for life it’s hardly going to make any difference, is it?’ he shrugged.

‘Not really. Are you still living at home?’ Matilda asked. Rory had moved back home late last year after splitting with his long-term girlfriend.

‘For now. Me and Scott are thinking of getting somewhere together, you know, share the cost. It’s doing my head in at home. My mum’s treating me like I’m a child again. She keeps saying I should get a safer job in a call centre or something. If I worked in one of those places, I’d go mad and end up going on a shooting spree.’

Matilda smiled. ‘She’s just worried about you.’

‘I know she is, but … listen, if I kill her, will you help me hide the body?’

Matilda laughed. A hearty laugh from the pit of her stomach, something she hadn’t done for a while. ‘I think I’ll go before you start asking me for the best method in which to do it. I’ll see you back at work tomorrow.’

‘Thanks, boss.’

As Matilda left the hospital she looked at an email on her phone. The post-mortem on Brian Appleby had been delayed. Obviously Adele Kean couldn’t do it, so a pathologist had to be drafted in from another district. Scene of crime officers had finished at Brian’s house. No foreign fingerprints had been found, no fibres, no DNA, nothing that couldn’t be explained. There was no sign of a forced entry, no broken locks, tampered windows. There was a key in the back door, which suggested maybe Brian had hidden a spare outside. The killer hadn’t needed to break in. Whoever murdered Brian Appleby was so skilled and knowledgeable about forensics they knew exactly how to leave no trace. Matilda found that incredibly frightening. She couldn’t help thinking this was going to be a long-running case.

Chapter Seven

‘Am I allowed in?’ Matilda asked, standing on the doorstep of Adele’s home in Hillsborough.

‘Of course you are,’ Chris laughed. ‘She’s in the living room. Go on in. Would you like a glass of wine or something?’

‘Wine would be perfect, thank you.’ She felt as if she could down a whole case of the stuff after the day she’d had.

Matilda made her way into the living room. She peered around the door and saw Adele in the centre of the sofa. Her face was a question mark of confusion. Wearing no make-up, her eyes were red from crying, which made her black eye and worry lines more prominent. She looked older, sadder.

‘Do you know what I love about this time of year?’ Matilda said, walking in with two heavy plastic bags.

Adele was startled at Matilda’s brash entrance and looked up. ‘What’s that?’ She tried to sound like her usual self. She smiled but it was obviously forced.

‘All the boxes of chocolates and Easter eggs on the shelves. I was like a child,’ Matilda said, raising the bags. ‘I’ve got your favourites, Ferrero Rocher.’ She took out a large box of the chocolates and handed them to Adele. ‘I couldn’t decide on Dairy Box or Milk Tray, so I bought both. I’ve got us a couple of giant Easter eggs too. Only a fiver.’

‘Easter isn’t for another month,’ Adele laughed.

‘That doesn’t matter. I thought tonight we could watch a film on Sky, get pissed and give ourselves diabetes with this lot. What do you think?’

Adele’s face lit up and she looked ten years younger. ‘Don’t you have a murder to solve?’

‘I do. But my best friend needs a bit of pampering. Brian’s still going to be dead in the morning.’

Chris walked in with a fresh bottle of wine and three glasses. His eyes widened at the coffee table laden with treats. ‘Ooh, can I join in, or is this girl’s night?’

‘You’re more than welcome, Chris, providing you let me paint your toenails.’ Matilda smiled.

‘I think I’ll give it a miss. I might go round to see Josh. Mum, do you mind if I go out?’

‘Chris, you don’t need to ask my permission,’ Adele scoffed.

‘I know. I meant, are you OK, on your own?’

‘I’m not on my own, Matilda’s here.’

‘OK. Well, I won’t be long.’ He leaned over and kissed his mum on her cheek, said goodbye to Matilda and left the house.

‘He’s a good kid,’ Matilda said.

‘He’s not a kid, he’s a grown man.’ Adele had a faraway look in her eye. ‘He’s not my boy anymore.’

‘He’ll always be your boy. It’s just … he’s grown up. That’s what we do. We evolve and move on. Blimey, Milk Tray have changed since I last had a box. Apple Crunch? You can have that one,’ Matilda said, reading the back of the box.

‘I’m not doing much moving on,’ Adele said wistfully.

‘No. Neither am I. But we’re going to change that.’

‘Are we?’

‘Oh yes.’ Matilda smiled. ‘It’s a bit late for New Year resolutions, but we’re going to grab 2017 by the balls and make it a good year for both of us.’

‘Are we? How?’

‘Well.’ Matilda thought for a moment. After a pause, she said, ‘We’ve got the half-marathon next month, we’re training for that …’

‘Some training,’ Adele nodded at the boxes of chocolate.

‘We’re allowed a night off. Anyway, after the half-marathon and after we’ve been released from hospital, you and I are going on a holiday.’

‘Really?’ Adele asked with a hint of a smile on her face. ‘Where?’

‘I haven’t decided yet. Somewhere warm where the sea is blue, the sand is golden, and women in their forties wearing a swimming costume aren’t sneered at.’

‘Oh. We’re going to Worthing?’ Adele wrinkled her nose before laughing.

***

‘Do you know what I can’t get my head around?’ Adele asked.

They were on their third bottle of wine, though Adele had drunk most of it. The floor was strewn with screwed-up chocolate wrappers, and Matilda and Adele were slumped on the sofa, balancing a box of chocolates on their laps. Captain America: The Winter Soldier was just finishing; the credits were rolling.

‘How Bucky managed to survive that fall from the train in the first place?’

‘No, about last night.’

‘Oh. Go on.’

Their voices were slow and relaxed. Adele’s was slightly slurred.

‘How charming Brian was. He genuinely seemed like the perfect gentleman, yet he turned out to be a sex offender. How could he put on an act and be so convincing?’

‘I don’t know, Adele. I’ve been thinking about that myself all day. Maybe he had atoned for his crimes. Maybe he was moving on from his past and trying to rebuild his life.’

‘I understand prison is all about rehabilitation and once they’re released they should be able to return to normal society, but … I don’t know.’

‘Go on,’ Matilda urged.

‘Say, for example, we went on a second date, and a third, and we started to get close. Would he have eventually sat down and told me what he’d done? If so, how would I have reacted? I like to think I’m a forward-thinking person who could have seen past his crimes to the man he now was, but, what if I wasn’t? What if I was a bigot who thought he should have rotted in jail? This has really made me question what kind of a person I am.’

‘You know what kind of a person you are. You’re kind, gentle, intelligent, honest. You would have approached what he told you with an open mind.’

Adele shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘OK,’ Matilda said, sitting up to be more comfortable. ‘Pass me the Ferrero Rocher. Now, based on your first date, you said he came across like the perfect gentleman. Keeping that in mind, what if he had visited you this morning and said “Adele, you’re a great woman, I had a lovely time, but you should know I served eight years in prison for sex-related crimes”. What would you have done?’

Adele thought for a while. She had another sip of her wine, then finished the whole glass. ‘Honestly? I would have admired him for telling me the truth. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have felt safe being alone with him. I wouldn’t have wanted him touching me. If he’s raped someone, how do I know he’s not going to rape me?’

‘That’s a very honest answer.’

‘But does that make me a bad person?’

‘No. It makes you human.’

‘We’re taught from an early age to forgive and move on. But there’s no way I could have made any kind of life with Brian, knowing he was a sex offender.’

‘There are some crimes that are unforgiveable, Adele. Even when they’ve served their time, criminals can’t expect to fully return to a normal life. There is no excuse for what Brian did. He may have been trying to put his past behind him, but that’s not always possible. Don’t beat yourself up for having a normal, human reaction.’

‘He was charming, but he was scum,’ Adele said.

‘Was that on his dating profile? If so, you’ve only got yourself to blame.’

For the first time that evening, Adele threw her head back and let out a loud laugh.

‘Captain America: Civil War?’

‘Definitely. Hawkeye’s in this one.’

Danny Hanson, only crime reporter on The Star, lived in a shared terraced house just off Ecclesall Road overlooking Endcliffe Park. He hated his attic room. It was cold in winter and boiling in the summer. All his possessions were in cardboard boxes and he couldn’t move without having to stride over them. His housemates were two trainee nurses he hardly ever saw and a student from China who had very limited English. Unfortunately, this was all Danny could afford, and on his meagre wages, it was all he was likely to be able to afford for years to come.

Sitting on his single bed with his laptop open, he was on a forum page about Sheffield life. He was hoping for some gossip about the dead body found at Linden Avenue this morning, but so far, there was nothing.

His mobile started ringing. He looked at the screen, but the caller’s ID had been withheld. He was tempted to ignore it, believing it to be another sales call about his broadband provider.

‘Hello,’ he answered, sounding bored.

‘Danny Hanson?’

‘Speaking.’

‘I hope you’ve got a pad and pen to hand.’

‘Who is this?’ Danny’s ears had been pricked.

‘The bloke found dead on Linden Avenue this morning was Brian Appleby. He’d been executed by hanging. He was a paedophile from Essex.’ The caller hung up.

A smile spread across Danny’s face. He looked at his phone. The screen was blank. Had he just dreamed that phone call? He logged on to Google, typed in ‘Brian Appleby’ and saw stories about a man who had been sentenced for sex offences against underage girls. He opened a blank Word document and began typing, his fingers hammering hard on the keyboard. Once he’d written the basic story, he’d give someone in the police a call, see if they could confirm it. If not, he’d pass it on to his editor. She’d know whether to risk publishing it or not. He could almost smell the print on his first front-page splash.

Chapter Eight

Danny Hanson left work early Saturday afternoon. He’d been busy since first light trying to get confirmation for his story. He’d spoken to a few detectives in CID who had refused to comment, giving him the stock reply that a statement would be released in time. However, Danny wasn’t satisfied with that. In the end, he decided to use underhand tactics to get through to someone lowly.

‘Hello, my name’s Gerald Wiley. I was mugged last week. I spoke to a lovely girl in uniform who said she’d help find whoever it was stole my watch. I didn’t get the lass’s name. Do you think I could speak to someone, please?’ Danny asked into the phone, putting on his best old-man voice.

He was transferred from the switchboard and a young-sounding PC answered who was more than happy to talk to Danny. He quickly launched into his spiel about how he knew who the dead man in Linden Avenue was and just wanted his research efforts confirming. The PC refused to give his name, but his comments would definitely be enough to use in the paper. It helped that Danny had his iPhone held up to the receiver, recording the conversation.

At just after two o’clock in the afternoon, Danny left work. As he made his way for home, he saw a board outside a newsagent’s advertising the local paper. There it was, his first ever front-page story.

PAEDOPHILE EXECUTED

It was a simple headline, but it packed a punch. He didn’t even attempt to hide his grin upon seeing his byline. He’d post a copy of the paper off to his mum. She’d be very proud.

Matilda and Adele lost the majority of the weekend to a hangover and feeling sick after the amount of sugar they had consumed. It was what they both needed: a chance for them to discuss their futures as two independent, single forty-somethings and for Adele to try and put the whole Brian Appleby incident behind her. Famous last words.

Matilda had called DI Christian Brady and put him in charge of the investigation for the weekend. Fortunately, budget cuts came in handy on occasion and this was the perfect time to blag a couple of days of light duties. Christian kept calling, filling her in on the interviews with neighbours, but nothing dramatic required her attention. She went home on Sunday morning feeling better about herself. She hoped Adele did too.

Matilda woke up early on Monday morning, an hour before her alarm was due to sound. She headed straight for the treadmill in the conservatory and ran 10K in just under one hour. She smiled at the time on the display, happy with how far she had come in the short space of a couple of months. Strangely, she was looking forward to the half-marathon, though she didn’t dare say anything as crazy out loud.

She breakfasted on granary toast and a black coffee before showering. This morning, she decided to put on a bit of make-up. While Matilda sat in her dressing gown and applied a touch of eyeliner, she tried to remember the last time she had done this – probably James’s funeral. That was almost two years ago. When she was finished, she liked what she saw in the mirror. She had definable cheek bones, her face looked smoother and younger. She should do this more often.

With a spring in her step, Matilda went into the living room, picked up her framed wedding photograph and gave James Darke a big kiss, leaving a lipstick mark behind which she refused to wipe off.

‘I love you, James,’ she said with confidence. There was no cracking in her voice, no tearful emotion at losing him so early into their marriage, just a determined statement of love from wife to husband.

‘Is everything all right, ma’am?’ DC Scott Andrews said, entering Matilda’s office.

‘Yes, fine. Why?’

‘You look different. Brighter,’ he mused.

‘I had a good night’s sleep. How’s Alec Routledge?’ she asked, wanting to get off the subject of her appearance.

‘He’s still unconscious, but Forensics have found plenty of evidence in his house. DI Brady said neighbours have identified a couple of people who were seen running away from his home. I think he’s hopeful on making an arrest within the next few hours.’

‘Good. I don’t think there’s a connection with Brian Appleby, but we’ll keep an open mind until it’s confirmed. Any news on who spoke to the press over the weekend?’

‘No. Nothing yet.’

‘I thought not. Any more contact from Danny Hanson?’

‘He’s called the switchboard a few times. And, yesterday, he accosted me in Graves Park while I was on a run.’

‘I hope you didn’t tell him anything.’

‘Of course not.’

‘He’s certainly determined. I’ll give him that.’

Scott went to leave the room, but hovered in the doorway.

‘Do you want to tell me something, Scott?’ she asked.

‘I do, yes.’

‘Go on then.’

‘Can I sit down?’

‘Of course.’

‘Brian Appleby kept a diary and he put all his appointments in it like trips to the dentist and doctors, etc. On Thursday, 15th September last year, there’s a note for him to come to South Yorkshire Police and register himself as living in Sheffield.’

‘Oh,’ Matilda said, her interest suddenly piqued.

‘Aaron said yesterday that Brian was a meticulous man. It appears he really was and had intended to come to the station to report his move.’

‘And did he?’

‘Well we don’t have him listed on our register of known sex offenders. Yet there’s nothing in his diary to say it didn’t happen, or he couldn’t make it, or he’d come on a different day.’

‘Strange.’

‘Very.’

‘OK. Leave it with me, Scott. I’ll have a think. Good work.’

‘Thank you.’

Matilda’s phone started to ring. She waited until Scott closed the door to her office before answering. ‘DCI Darke.’

‘My office, Matilda.’ The line went dead. Only ACC Masterson had that kind of control.

‘I’d offer you a coffee, but my machine started smoking this morning,’ Valerie said, giving a dirty look to the small coffee maker on top of a filing cabinet in the corner of the room. ‘I’m guessing you’ve seen Saturday’s edition of The Star.’

Matilda hadn’t, but she’d read the headlines on her phone. When she saw the physical newspaper in Valerie’s hands her heart sank. She hadn’t had a good relationship with the local newspaper over the past couple of years. At every turn, they seemed to delight in pointing out her errors and questioning her ability to be leading South Yorkshire’s CID.

Valerie slapped the newspaper down in front of Matilda. She leaned forward, refusing to pick it up, as if it was covered with some kind of flesh-eating bacteria. The bottom of the front page said the story was continued on page five. Matilda couldn’t resist. She opened the paper and continued reading.

‘Who the hell leaked all this?’ Valerie fumed. ‘Murder hasn’t been confirmed yet, and how did they know he was a paedophile? And where did this execution part come from?’

‘I have no idea,’ Matilda said, reading the rest of the story. ‘Is this true?’

‘What?’

‘This other story at the bottom. Are we getting a Major Crimes Unit?’

‘It’s being mooted.’

‘Why? It’s not been a year since the Murder Room was abolished.’

‘We have twenty-six unsolved murders on our books at present. We need a team whose sole purpose is major crimes and cold cases. Look, we’re deviating from the point. Who leaked this?’

‘I don’t know. I will find out though, trust me.’

‘When you do, I want them handed over to me,’ she said. Her wrinkled face was red with fury. ‘I will not have any officers on my force spilling information to the press for the price of a few pints.’

As Matilda left the room she started thinking of the new faces she’d seen around the station lately. When the Murder Investigation Team was up and running, she had her own small team of faithful, dedicated officers – Sian, Aaron, Rory and Scott. When it closed and they merged with CID, she had welcomed Faith and Christian into her fold. Now there was Kesinka Rani and Ranjeet Deshwal, who she didn’t know at all. And every time she saw a uniformed officer it seemed to be a different face. Then there were a whole new bunch in the forensic team at Brian Appleby’s house. It was a fact of life that things changed, people moved on, and new ones arrived. Matilda wasn’t well known for allowing many people into her confidence. For the sake of her own sanity, she would need to adapt, trust, and bond. The very thought filled her with dread.

Chapter Nine

Doctor Simon Browes was a man who always had a smile on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Even during the more disturbing aspects of his job. For a forensic pathologist, he was jovial, sprightly, and full of life. At thirty-five, he was younger than Adele Kean, and he oozed confidence. There wasn’t anything special in his appearance. He didn’t have film-star good looks, a chiselled jawline or a rippling torso, but his charm made him very attractive to the opposite sex.

Usually working in Nottingham, Simon had received the call to fill in for Adele and arrived in the steel city in record time. He was dedicated to his job and would drop anything if necessary, much to the consternation of his wife and three children.

Lucy Dauman greeted him in the pathology suite and showed him into Adele’s impossibly tiny and cluttered office. Lucy had cleared some space on the desk for him to use to write up his reports and had found him a clean mug with no chips or cracks.

‘So, Victoria has headed for pastures new?’ he asked, taking off his duffel coat and looking around for a hook. He draped it over the back of his chair.

‘Yes. Stockport. I think she has family there.’

‘And what about you?’

‘What about me?’ Lucy asked with a frown.

‘What’s your story?’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Everyone has a story,’ he said, leaning against the desk and folding his arms. At six-foot one he towered over the five-foot five technical assistant. His steely glare was bewitching.

‘I don’t.’ She blushed, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. ‘I’m twenty-six, I live with my sister, have a cat called Odie and student debts that would make Greece look well managed.’

Simon smiled. ‘Single?’

‘Ye-es,’ she said slowly. She had already clocked his wedding ring and wondered where this conversation was going. She didn’t want there to be any awkwardness, particularly in such a confined space.

The door to the autopsy suite was pulled open and Matilda Darke entered the room.

‘Ah, DCI Darke is here,’ Lucy said, quickly. ‘Let me introduce you.’

Unfortunately, Lucy didn’t get a chance. She was about to open her mouth to speak when Simon overtook her and approached Matilda with large strides, holding his hand out for her to shake.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Darke, great name for a detective, pleasure to meet you finally,’ he said with a Cheshire cat smile.

Matilda shook his hand. ‘Likewise,’ she said. ‘You are?’

‘Sorry, Simon Browes, forensic pathologist. I believe I’m replacing Adele Kean on this particular case. She has a personal connection, I’ve been informed.’

‘Well, she—’

Simon held up his hands. ‘You don’t need to tell me, none of my business.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Shall we begin? I’ll go and scrub up. Will you be joining us, DCI Darke?’

Dressed in ill-fitting green theatre scrubs, apron, gloves, wellington boots, hat and face mask, Matilda stepped carefully through the footbath and into the small and dimly lit post-mortem suite.

There was one fixed table in the centre of the room. On it lay Brian Appleby covered in a white sheet. Four other people stood nearby – Simon Browes, Lucy Dauman, and two others who looked identical in their scrubs. One was a Forensic Imaging Specialist, to photograph the post-mortem at every stage; the other was the Crime Scene Manager, there to collect trace evidence. Under their protective layers, Matilda couldn’t tell who was who.

In the corner, was a brightly lit anteroom known as the SOCO room. This was where the evidence was passed through to a waiting detective constable. In this case, Faith had made the journey from the police station. Her expression showed that she wasn’t happy about being here, but at least there was a wall of glass between her and the gruesome act of an autopsy.

‘What did the results of the digital autopsy show?’ Matilda asked.

‘We haven’t done one,’ Lucy said.

‘Why not?’

‘I was told this was death by hanging,’ Simon said.

‘It is.’

‘Then we don’t need a digital autopsy. The majority of what we need to know is external. As for internal, bruising won’t show up on the scans. It will save time and money for me to perform a straight invasive post-mortem.’

‘What about the organs?’ Matilda asked.

‘What about them?’ he asked, getting slightly irate at the delay.

‘Don’t we need to do a digital autopsy to see their condition?’

‘As far as I have been made aware, there are no gunshot or stab wounds. We’re not looking for the trajectory of a bullet or a snapped-off point of a knife. May I begin?’

‘By all means,’ Matilda said, reluctantly stepping back so as not to get in the way. She doubted if radiologist Claire Alexander would be happy.

Lucy removed the sheet and was presented with a body bag lying on the table. She broke the lock and opened the bag revealing a pale Brian Appleby inside.

Matilda angled her head to one side and studied Brian’s face. She could understand why Adele had been attracted to him. He had thick, dark brown hair, a firm jawline, smooth skin and just the hint of grey in his stubble, giving him a distinguished look. Matilda had to remind herself this man had sexually assaulted three young girls. There could even have been more. He had used his charms to convince Adele he was an upstanding member of the community, just unlucky in love. What did he need to do to win over a fifteen-year-old girl?

‘Did you hear me?’

Matilda looked up to see all eyes on her. ‘Sorry?’

‘DCI Darke, if you’re not comfortable viewing a post-mortem you don’t have to stay,’ Simon admonished.

Matilda stole a glance at Faith in the SOCO room who was hiding a smile. ‘I’m fine. I was … thinking.’

‘Well, have a think about this. Your man here was strangled before he was hanged.’

‘Really?’ she asked. ‘He didn’t die by hanging?’

‘He may well have been unconscious when he was finally strung up but if you look at the rope marks on his neck, they run horizontally.’ Simon beckoned her closer to the body. ‘As you can see, the rope was tied around his neck, but it’s not a firm mark at the back. I think he was subdued in a stranglehold, so the killer would have more control.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Matilda frowned, trying, but failing, to picture the scenario.

Simon let out a heavy sigh. ‘Imagine the killer standing behind you. He has his arm wrapped around your neck squeezing hard to render you unconscious, or on the cusp of passing out. He lets go. You fall to the floor, gasping for breath, and he throws the noose over your head and hangs you up with it. The rope cuts into your throat and goes up the side of your neck around the back of your ears. It’s a very slow and painful death.’

‘Right,’ was all Matilda could say. She changed her mind on what type of person could overpower someone of Brian Appleby’s build. They needn’t be stronger, taller, fitter; the element of surprise was more than enough.

‘Do you know the signs of ante-mortem hanging, DCI Darke?’ he asked.

‘The presence of ecchymosis around the ligature and the dribbling line of dried saliva down the front of his shirt,’ Matilda replied with a slight smile on her face.

‘Very good,’ he said, a slight condescending tone to his voice. ‘Not just a pretty face, DCI Darke,’ he added, for want of something better to say.

Or maybe I called Adele this morning and she told me what to look for.

‘Judging by the crime scene photographs, this is a partial hanging as his toes were found to be touching the floor. Is that correct?’

‘They were just touching the ground, yes.’

‘The weight of the head, arms and chest provide the fatal pressure on the neck. Mr Appleby was a well-built chap. His own muscle was his killer. I’m going to cut through the rope and leave the knot intact. I’m sure your Forensics are capable of tracing the rope and finding skin samples within the fibres.’

‘How long would he have taken to die?’ Matilda asked.

‘I’m surprised you don’t already know the answer to that, DCI Darke,’ he smiled at her through his face mask, his eyes twinkled. ‘It depends on how long he was struggling with his assailant. The usual time period for death by hanging is three to five minutes. He will have lost consciousness fairly quickly. However, when you’re dying, those few minutes can seem like an eternity.’

Dr Browes cut through the rope. ‘As I expected, a simple slip knot. A decent enough rope too, not too thick, not brittle. Your hangman wasn’t an opportunist. He, for argument’s sake let’s call him a he, knew the size of his victim and brought along the adequate tools required.’

‘Thirteen twists too,’ Matilda said, remembering Diana Black’s comment from Thursday morning. ‘A typical hangman’s noose, I believe.’ She was enjoying being smug.

Simon Browes ignored her. ‘I’m going to cut him open and take a look at his organs now. Not squeamish are you, DCI Darke?’

‘Not at all,’ she lied.

‘Ms Dauman?’

‘Of course not,’ another lie.

Chapter Ten

‘Are you all right now?’ Lucy Dauman asked as she stood over DCI Darke with a glass of water.

Matilda looked around her, wondering how she had got from the autopsy suite to Adele’s office.

‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s been years since I’ve collapsed at a post-mortem.’

‘I haven’t been doing this job long. I always think I’m going to faint. I get warm and feel sick, but I’ve managed to control myself so far.’ She smiled.

It wasn’t the sight of the scalpel cutting into the body, the smell coming from the internal organs or the sounds of ribs being broken: it was Dr Simon Browes’s haphazard manner and lack of respect for the man on his table. He ran the scalpel down Brian Appleby’s chest like he was opening a parcel from Amazon. He tore back the skin and cracked open the ribcage like a starving cannibal. The fact Matilda hadn’t eaten since first thing hadn’t helped either.

‘Have some more water, you still look a little flushed.’ Lucy handed Matilda the glass.

‘Is he always like that?’

‘I’ve no idea. Today’s the first time I’ve met him. He’s good at his job though, you can’t deny that.’

Matilda took another large slug of water and a deep breath. ‘Is the post-mortem complete?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘I’m guessing Dr Browes is waiting for me to do the post-autopsy briefing.’

‘He is.’

‘I hope he’s changed his clothes,’ she said, slowly getting up from the chair. ‘I don’t think I could stand the sight of any more blood today.’

By the time Matilda saw natural daylight she had been in the Medico-Legal Centre for over six hours. Faith had returned to the station, probably telling everyone how Matilda had fainted during a post-mortem. A DCI collapsing at the sight of blood would be comedy gold among the uniformed officers. They were just getting over the video Rory filmed on his mobile phone last year of Matilda being lifted over floodwater by a hunky fireman.

The post-autopsy briefing was conducted in the windowless family room. The heady smell of different fragrances of air freshener, coupled with Dr Simon Browes delighting in giving Matilda all the details in glorious technicolour, made her want to vomit all over his designer shirt and tight trousers.

In the end, he summed up what Matilda had already surmised: Brian Appleby died by strangulation. The blood and skin samples under his fingernails were evidence he struggled. Unfortunately, the samples belonged to him. He had pulled at the rope as it tightened around his neck and squeezed the life out of him.

As Matilda made her way, delicately, to the car park, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Brian. Then she remembered who he was, how he had fooled Adele, and his victims. She felt sick. She needed something to eat.

A tentative knock on the glass door caused Matilda to look up from her cluttered desk.

‘Ma’am, can I have a word?’

‘Of course, Ranjeet, come on in.’

DC Ranjeet Deshwal had recently transferred from West Yorkshire Police. He was in his mid-twenties, slim with the shiniest black hair Matilda had ever seen. He wore rimless glasses and a stud in each ear. She wanted to ask him how he managed to get the knot in his tie so big but, when she looked at his neck, all she could picture was the lifeless body of Brian Appleby hanging from his ceiling.

‘DI Christian Brady is observing an interview,’ he began in a thick West Yorkshire accent. ‘He wanted me to tell you that three lads have been arrested in Gleadless for the assault on Alec Routledge. One of them has admitted it and landed his two mates in it too. They don’t know anything about Brian Appleby, though.’

‘I never thought they were linked. Thanks for telling me, Ranjeet.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘How are you settling into South Yorkshire Police?’ she asked as he was heading for the door.

He stopped in the doorway and turned around. Matilda was pretty sure his smile was fake. ‘I’m enjoying it. Great bunch of people.’ He nodded several times before leaving the office.

Matilda tried hard not to smile. A great bunch of people? Was that true? She looked through the window at the officers going about their duties. There was only Scott and Faith she knew by first name. The room was packed yet she didn’t know a single one of them. You’re to blame for that. Invite them out for a drink.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said quietly to herself, before rolling her eyes.

Sitting in Matilda’s office, Aaron Connolly and Scott Andrews were squeezed into the small space. All three had a cup of coffee balanced somewhere on Matilda’s untidy desk and they’d raided Sian’s snack drawer. She was due back tomorrow, so someone was going to have to run to the supermarket to replenish the stolen items.

‘It turns out Brian Appleby did have kids,’ Scott said, opening a Boost. ‘Alicia is twenty-one. She’s currently on a gap year in France. George is nineteen, and, get this, he’s studying at Sheffield Hallam University.’

‘Why am I only learning this now?’ Matilda asked.

‘I only found out myself this lunchtime. Brian had an address book, but all the names were initials. I’ve been looking them up, and George Appleby lives in a shared student property on Penrhyn Road.’

‘Maybe that’s why Brian moved to Sheffield then. To be closer to his son. I think we’re going to need a word with this George. Scott, go along with Faith and bring him in.’

‘Tonight?’

Matilda looked out of the window and noticed it was dark. A glance at her phone told her it was just past eight o’clock. ‘First thing in the morning then. You can go with Sian, Scott.’

‘Will do.’

‘Who spoke to the wife?’

‘Unfortunately, I did,’ Aaron said. ‘She was very short with me and blamed me for bringing him back into her life. She practically slammed the phone down when I asked where she was on Thursday night.’

‘Did you get an answer?’

‘Sort of. I’ve been on to the local police in Southend. They’re going to send someone round to have a more in-depth chat with her. I don’t think she’s a suspect.’

‘Did Essex Police go to speak to Brian Appleby’s old neighbours?’

‘They did. None of the neighbours have been in contact with Brian since he left for Sheffield. They were glad to see him go. I think they were worried house prices would drop.’

‘OK. What about his neighbours on Linden Avenue?’

‘Faith and Ranjeet are back there with a team of uniforms. They’re trying to catch anyone who was out during the day,’ Aaron said. ‘So far, none of them are aware of Brian’s past. They thought he was the ideal neighbour.’

‘Jesus, it just shows you we have no idea who lives next door, do we?’

‘So where do we go from here?’ Aaron asked.

Matilda leaned back in her chair and blew out her cheeks. She had no idea. ‘Well let’s see if anything comes up once the son and all the neighbours have been questioned. If not, we’ll have to rely on Forensics to pull something out of the hat.’

‘I thought you might like to know,’ Aaron said, ‘the phone lines have been ringing off the hook.’

‘Oh! Witnesses?’

‘No. Since The Star printed that story about paedophiles in Sheffield, we’ve had people calling in and reporting anyone they suspect to be child molesters.’

‘Bloody hell. Aren’t people lovely?’

‘I know. The calls are going to have to be followed up though.’

‘Right,’ Matilda said. ‘I’ll have a word with Christian. We’ll put a team together. This is all we need.’

Adele Kean was doing something she hadn’t done since Chris was a baby – she was watching a soap opera. She recognized the character of Eric Pollard (just), but everyone else was a mystery to her. Wearing tracksuit bottoms and an oversized sweater, her hair uncombed and her face without make-up, she sat on the sofa staring into the distance. How could she have been so naive as to trust a stranger, especially one she had met on the Internet. Never again.

She had spent the afternoon deleting her profile on the three websites she had registered with and the apps from her mobile phone. From now on, her mobile would be just for making calls, sending texts, and playing solitaire between post-mortems. The game for the lonely. How apt.

The landline started to ring. She decided to ignore it. It would only be a company trying to get her to claim for PPI. It stopped ringing and started again almost immediately. She looked at the display – unknown number. If the caller couldn’t identify themselves, then she didn’t see why she should answer. It stopped then started again.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Adele exclaimed. She picked up the handset and pressed the green button. ‘Hello?’ she asked, an annoyance in her voice.

‘Dr Adele Kean?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Danny Hanson, I’m a reporter on The Star. Is it true you were on a date with a known paedophile the night before he was found murdered?’

Adele was struck dumb. She could hear her heart beating loudly in her chest. She gripped the phone tight and pressed it hard against her ear.

‘Dr Kean? I’ve heard you’re good friends with DCI Matilda Darke. How do you feel knowing that South Yorkshire Police were not aware there was a paedophile living on their patch? Surely if your best friend had known, she could have saved you all this heartache.’

Adele ended the call. ‘Bastard,’ she said, throwing her phone onto the seat beside her. She picked up a sofa cushion and hugged it tight to her chest. She wondered how he had managed to find out all that information about her.

Chapter Eleven

‘Is your house back to normal then, Sian?’ Scott asked from the driver’s seat of the pool car.

‘Yes, thank goodness, but at the expense of these,’ she said, showing off her dry, calloused hands. ‘I used to have lovely nails.’

‘They’ll soon grow back.’

‘Yes, I’ll just get them nice for the summer and they’ll be ruined again. Stuart wants to irrigate the garden, so the house doesn’t flood if we get more heavy rain.’

Scott tried to hide his smile.

They parked in the last available space in the small car park near the main entrance to Sheffield Hallam University. Sian stepped out and took her long black coat from the back seat. The stiff breeze whipped her shoulder-length red hair. She shivered and trotted to keep up with Scott who was a good eight inches taller than her.

They were in luck; George Appleby was on campus and currently in a lecture. A heavily pregnant administrator led the way. While Sian was asking questions about the impending birth, Scott was taking in his surroundings. University seemed so long ago to the twenty-six-year-old DC. He enjoyed his time at Nottingham University. It had been liberating. Although, looking at the students now, he was probably better off where he was. He didn’t remember being so bloody miserable. Yes, they would be leaving university with three times the debt he left with, but while he was studying he didn’t care about that. He had a ball.

Sian and Scott waited in the corridor while the administrator went to collect George from a lecture hall.

‘It won’t be long until your kids are coming to uni, will it?’

‘How old do you think I am?’ Sian asked. ‘My eldest is studying for his GCSEs. There’s plenty of time before he comes here.’

‘What does he want to do?’

‘I’ve no idea. I don’t think he knows either,’ she replied, looking into the distance.

‘From an early age I knew I wanted to be a detective. I think it was Sherlock Holmes that got me interested.’

Sian smiled. ‘Real-life police work is a bit of an eye-opener, isn’t it?’

‘Just a tad.’ He smiled back. ‘Also, I don’t play the violin or smoke opium.’

The door opened, and the administrator stepped out followed by a tall skinny George Appleby. His pale pallor, his mound of unruly dull-red hair, his oversized clothes, made him appear in urgent need of a hot meal.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ the administrator said before she waddled off down the corridor.

‘George Appleby?’ Sian asked.

‘That’s right.’ He looked nervously at the two detectives.

‘I’m DS Sian Mills from South Yorkshire Police. This is DC Andrews. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your father, if that’s OK?’

‘My father?’ he asked in wide-eyed surprise. His eyes darted nervously from side to side to make sure they weren’t overheard.

‘Yes. When was the last time you saw him?’

The nervous look was replaced with one of disgust. ‘I’ve no idea. It was years ago. Why?’

‘Do you know where he lives?’

‘Yes. He’s in Ashfield Prison,’ he said, lowering his voice.

Sian and Scott exchanged glances.

‘What’s going on?’

‘I think it would be better if we continued this conversation back at the station. This isn’t really the place.’

George Appleby sat in the interview room, guarded by PC Steve Harrison, looking up at the crime prevention posters. In the observation bay, Sian and Matilda were studying the skinny young man.

‘So, he had no idea his father was out of prison?’

‘Unless he was a very good liar,’ Sian said. ‘How do you want me to play this?’

‘Break the news that his father’s dead first, then mention he’s been living in Sheffield for over a year, see what reaction you get.’

‘What do you think? Father shows up at his digs wanting to make amends and George snaps?’ Sian asked.

‘I’m not sure. It does seem strange that Brian Appleby would move to Sheffield and not contact his son.’

‘He doesn’t look like he’s got the strength to string his father up. His arms are like twigs.’

‘A lot of students seem to be sporting the emaciated look these days. I don’t like it,’ Matilda said.

‘No. A bloke should have some meat on him. Have you seen my Stuart? Built like a rugby player with thighs to match. Lovely,’ Sian said, almost drooling.

‘OK, Sian, when you’re ready,’ Matilda nodded to the interview room.

When Sian broke the news of his father’s death, she handed George a tissue. He had his head down, but there were no tears.

‘Does my mum know?’ he asked, looking up.

‘Yes.’

‘What about Alicia?’

‘I think that’s been taken care of. George, we believe your father was murdered.’

‘Murdered? Because of what he did?’

‘We don’t know. George, your father was living here in Sheffield.’

‘What?’ He seemed more shocked by that than hearing his father had been killed.

‘He was living in Linden Avenue. Just off Meadowhead,’ Scott said.

He shrugged. ‘I’ve been drinking on Woodseats. That’s not far away, is it?’

‘No it isn’t.’

‘George, has your father tried to contact you at all?’

‘No. Never. How long has he been living up here?’

‘About a year.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘George, did your father know you were studying in Sheffield?’

‘I’m sorry, but do you mind not calling him my father? What he did … well, he’s not my dad. I refuse to have that kind of person as my dad. To answer your question, no, he didn’t know I was studying in Sheffield. As far as I’m aware, most of the family washed their hands of him when he was found guilty. My mum, sister, aunts and uncles, nobody went to visit him.’

‘From our point of view, it seems strange that you both ended up in Sheffield,’ Sian said.

‘Well, it’s a very popular city for universities. You know, people from all over the country come here.’

‘But we don’t know why your fa— Brian moved here. Is there any link your family has to Sheffield?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Why would he choose Sheffield?’

‘I have no idea. He was locked up in 2008. I was a child. I don’t know him at all,’ he said, nervously scratching at his wrists.

‘Is there anyone who would know about why he’d moved here?’

He shrugged again. ‘You’d need to ask my mum, but I doubt she’d know either. Maybe he made friends with someone in prison who lives here, I’m sorry. I can’t help you,’ George said, getting agitated.

‘George,’ Sian said, adjusting herself in her hard plastic seat, ‘we found this address book in your father’s – Brian’s – house. He knew where you lived.’

‘What?’

Sian pushed it across the table to George. The book was open at the As with George’s details written in neat block capitals.

‘Oh my God,’ he exclaimed. ‘How did he …? I …’

‘Did he ever come to see you?’

‘No.’

‘Did your housemates say you’d had a visitor while you were out, or did they notice someone hanging around?’

‘No,’ he replied, his face was a map of worry. ‘Do you think he was following me?’

‘I really don’t know, George. I’m sorry.’

‘This is a nightmare.’ He ran his skinny fingers through his tangled hair.

‘OK.’ Sian shifted in her seat again. ‘George, I’m only asking this for elimination purposes, but where were you on Thursday night?’

‘Last Thursday?’ he asked quickly. His eyes widened.

‘Yes.’

‘Is that when he was …?’

‘Yes.’

‘I was at home.’

‘Can anyone verify that?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I was in my room. I should have been working in the uni bar but there was a balls-up with the rota. I didn’t mind. I was shattered after working four nights in a row until the early hours. I decided to have an early night instead.’

‘How early?’

‘I don’t know. About nine o’clock, I think.’

‘Alone?’

‘Of course alone. I thought you were asking me for elimination purposes? It sounds like you’re accusing me of something.’

‘Sian,’ Matilda said through her earpiece. ‘Ask him about his feelings towards his father. Call him his father too.’

‘George, how do you feel about your dad?’

His eyes flitted from Sian to Scott and back again. He swallowed hard a couple of times. Eventually, he replied. ‘I despise him.’ He spoke with such venom and hatred that it seemed to resound off the walls.

‘Why is that?’

‘Wouldn’t you hate your dad if he raped little girls?’

‘But he’s still your father at the end of the day.’

A wave of emotions swept across George’s pale face. ‘I despise him. For what he did, I hate him. I physically hate the man. He’s not my dad. As far as I’m concerned I don’t have a dad.’

‘What do you think?’ Matilda asked Sian as they stood in the foyer of the station watching through the doors as Scott led George to the car.

‘He hates his father. Hate is a very good motive for murder.’

‘He was building himself a decent life here in Sheffield. University, new friends, finding out who he really is, and then Brian comes along to ruin it all.’

‘Do you think they were in contact?’ Sian asked. Neither of them took their eyes from the student.

‘It’s possible. Look at it from Brian’s point of view. You’ve been released from prison and practically been run out of your home. Your wife, brothers and parents want nothing to do with you. Your son, however, was only nine when you were put away. You’ve not heard from him or seen him since. Surely, you’re going to try to make amends, get him back on side.’

Sian thought for a while. ‘I think I would. If it was me. I’d want to contact my children and apologize for what I’d done.’

‘Maybe that’s what Brian did.’

‘And George wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe we should have a quiet chat with George’s housemates, when he’s not around, obviously.’

‘Definitely. He has no alibi either. We’ll be speaking to him again.’ Matilda walked over to the double doors and pulled one open. George was just getting into the car when he looked up and saw Matilda. He gave her a simple smile. She wasn’t going to be fooled. She’d seen smiles like that before.

Chapter Twelve

Day Ten

Saturday, 18 March 2017

He may have been only five years old, but Jason Lacey knew the benefits to having a birthday fall on a weekend rather than a weekday – he didn’t have to go to school. He woke up earlier than usual, excited at what his parents had planned for him that day. He ran into their bedroom and jumped on the bed. It was like Christmas morning all over again. At least he’d waited until it was light this time.

After breakfast, which he ate in record time, Jason was allowed to open two presents. His mother ushered him out of the room to get dressed upstairs.

‘Right, let’s go through the plan one more time,’ Karen said to her husband, entering the living room while putting her coat on. She spoke in hushed tones just in case her son was listening.

Joe sighed and lowered his newspaper. ‘I’m not thick. I know what I’m doing.’

‘You’re not even dressed yet.’

He looked down at his cartoon pyjamas and dressing gown.

‘Have you been sat there reading the paper while I’ve got myself and three kids ready?’

‘It’s the weekend.’

‘It’s also your son’s birthday. Now, are you sure you don’t want to take the kids to the cinema and I’ll collect everything?’

‘You really don’t trust me, do you?’ He smiled.

‘It’s not that,’ Karen started to flounder. ‘It’s just … well, organization isn’t your strong point, is it?’

Joe dug around in the pocket of his dressing gown and pulled out a tatty sheet of A4 paper. He unfolded it. ‘See, I have your instructions with me which I shall carry out to the letter.’

She kissed him on his recently shaved head. ‘You know how to make me happy.’

‘I thought I did that on your birthday last month.’ He winked. He grabbed the waistband of her jeans and pulled her towards him.

The sound of three small children thundering down the stairs interrupted them.

‘Right, we’ll be off now. Don’t forget, presents first, cake last. We’ll be back by four at the latest.’

‘Should we synchronize watches?’ he asked, staring intently at the Breitling he’d been given for Christmas.

‘Promise me you’ll not forget anything.’

‘I promise.’ He smiled.

Karen leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. ‘Make sure you have a shave too.’

‘I’ll even wash behind my ears.’

Karen rolled her eyes and left the room. The three children, Esme, Victoria, and birthday boy, Jason, were all excitedly waiting in the hallway wrapping themselves up in their coats, scarves, and gloves.

‘Are you guys ready?’

‘The Lego Batman Movie!’ Jason almost screamed at the top of his voice.

Joe kissed all of the children in turn and told them to have a great time. He picked Jason up and raised him high in the air.

‘You’re getting big now, birthday boy.’ He kissed him on the cheek. ‘Enjoy the film. Tell me all about it when you get back.’

‘Ok.’

Karen turned to make sure the kids were out of earshot. ‘Remember …’

‘I know, presents first, then cake.’

‘And don’t drop it either or I’ll drop you.’

‘Such a lovely way with words.’ Joe kissed his wife hard on the lips before she could issue any more instructions. He waved them off and closed the door.

The silence, no chattering wife, no excited kids, was deafening. He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. As much as he loved his family, he appreciated his alone time just as much.

It was an unusually cold morning. The sun was shining in the clear blue sky, but it was bloody freezing. As Joe selected fifth gear, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator and headed into Derbyshire. The rolling landscape was covered with a sparkling layer of frost, bare trees reached into the air, sheep grazed on the steep hillside, and the sound of birds singing was heart-warming. Winter was maintaining its stronghold on 2017 for a little longer than usual. With these stunning views, it didn’t matter.

Joe had struck lucky when it came to in-laws. Karen’s parents were kind and generous. They welcomed Joe into their family and forgave him his past deeds. As long as Karen and the kids were happy, they were too. They invited Joe in for a hot chocolate to warm him up before presenting him with a sack full of gifts for Jason. It was exactly like the Christmas Eve present run.

‘There’s a little something in there for Esme and Victoria too. I didn’t want them feeling left out,’ Karen’s mum said.

‘You don’t need to do that, Alice. You gave them all plenty at Christmas.’

‘Well, I just want them to know we think about them all. Give them a big kiss from their grandma and grandad and tell them we’ll see them tomorrow.’

Joe headed back to Sheffield. He stopped off to fill up with petrol, then went to the far side of the city to collect the cake from the baker.

‘Oh my God, that’s brilliant,’ he beamed when he opened the box and saw the large cake inside. ‘Jason will love it. It’s his favourite Minion.’

‘Well I hope you all enjoy it.’

‘We will.’

The box was secured with the seatbelt and Joe drove carefully back to Meersbrook. He couldn’t stop smiling as he imagined the look on Jason’s face when he saw the cake. He drove straight into the garage and closed the door behind him.

Before he’d left, Joe had set the dining room up for the mini-party they were having later with a few of Jason’s friends from school. The table was clear, and Joe could place the cake in the middle without any hassle. It was heavier than expected.

He took the lid off the box, carefully removed the large yellow cake from it and placed the smiling Minion on the table. He stood back and inspected it. Karen would kill him if there were any damages. He was amazed something so intricate could be made out of sponge and icing.

The attack caught Joe unawares. The wind was knocked out of him from behind, and he fell to the floor, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

Dazed, he shook his head and tried to stand up, but something was pushing down on his back and he fell to the floor once again. He looked up and saw his pained reflection in the patio windows screaming back at him. Above him was a dark figure dressed in black who had one foot on his back, pressing him to the floor. He couldn’t breathe as he felt his ribs starting to break.

‘I could easily kill you. It wouldn’t take much for a broken shard of a rib to pierce your lung and for it to fill with blood. You’d gag. You’d choke. You’d drown in your own blood, but it wouldn’t take long before you lost consciousness.’

The pressure was released from Joe. He was in a great deal of pain, but he managed to turn over onto his back. He coughed as he struggled to regain his breath.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ he asked.

The man dressed in black took off his backpack, unzipped it and took out a length of rope. He held it aloft, showing Joe the noose swaying at the end of it.

‘I’m your executioner.’

Panicking, Joe tried to get away. He didn’t get far as he banged the back of his head on the patio window. He turned, reached up for the handle and pulled, but it was locked. He felt the noose go over his head and squeeze into his neck. He tried to get his fingers under the rope, but it was no good, it was too tight. Already his breathing was laboured, and he felt light-headed as he was dragged along the carpet.

‘Wake up, Joe,’ his attacker shouted, slapping him across his face. ‘You need to know why you’re being executed. You’re taking all the fun out of it.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Justice. That’s all I want.’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong!’

The man let go of the rope, and Joe fell back, hitting his head once again on the floor.

‘How can you say that? How can you deny what you’ve done? When you’re breathing your last breath, think of Rebecca.’

Joe’s eyes widened. That was a name he hadn’t heard in years. ‘No. Please,’ he wept. ‘I’ve got a family. Please. Don’t kill me.’

At the sight of Joe begging and pleading for his life, the Hangman smiled.

‘Mum, I feel sick.’

‘I told you not to eat all those fries.’

It was going dark by the time Karen and the children made their way from Meadowhall back home to Meersbrook. They’d had a great day, although when planning it, Karen hadn’t taken into account the annoyance of Saturday shoppers. She had felt a headache come on after ten minutes. The volume of The Lego Batman Movie hadn’t helped either. The burger in Oasis afterwards was tasty, but the wall of noise from those around her took the edge off her appetite. Jason, however, had delighted in finishing off everyone else’s fries. Now, he was paying the price. When she’d gone to the toilet and seen her reflection in the mirror she looked as if she’d aged ten years since arriving at Meadowhall. The mall sapped every ounce of energy from the moment you arrived. When the extension opened it would be hell on earth.

‘Have you had a good day, Jason?’ she asked, trying to distract him from feeling sick.

‘It’s been brilliant,’ he brightened up. ‘I can’t wait to tell Dad about the film. Do you think he’ll take me to see it again next weekend?’

‘I’m sure he will,’ Karen said smiling, knowing her husband was a big kid at heart and would probably enjoy The Lego Batman Movie even more than Jason did, if that was possible.

Karen turned the corner and pulled up in front of the house. She wondered why it was in darkness. Maybe Joe was planning to jump out and shout surprise. Jason would love that.

Jason climbed out of the back seat and ran to the house. The front door was unlocked and he went straight in. Karen could hear the calls for his father from the road. For a tiny child, he had a loud voice. Victoria and Esme helped Karen with the bags of shopping. She had just closed the boot when a glass-shattering scream came from the house. She dropped a bag and a bottle smashed. Red wine spilled out of the torn plastic and ran down the road. She froze as she looked at the open doorway of her home and saw her little boy staring at her. His face was pale, and he was shaking violently. Her mouth opened but she couldn’t speak. Her heart seemed to have stopped beating and her world stopped turning.

Chapter Thirteen

Matilda had been waiting for this phone call since last Saturday morning. Something at the back of her mind told her there would be a second victim. Brian Appleby had been hanged in what looked like an execution. Someone had obviously known about his past and decided he needed to pay with his life rather than just eight years in prison. If they had taken the trouble to research Brian, and set up such an elaborate and gruesome murder, they wouldn’t stop at one victim; others would be in the planning. One week later, Matilda had been proven correct.

In the car on the way, Aaron filled Matilda in on the details. It sounded frighteningly similar to the Brian Appleby murder. The victim, in this case, was Joe Lacey, who was not on the sex offender’s register but was known to the police.

On the 1st of January 1997, following a New Year’s Eve party with his girlfriend, Karen, who later became his wife, he dropped off Karen at her flat and drove home. It was nine o’clock in the morning and Joe had been drinking since early afternoon the previous day. He knocked down and killed eight-year-old Rebecca Branson. He didn’t stop.

Later that day, the police called to his flat and arrested him for causing death by dangerous driving. He was breathalyzed and found to be five times over the legal limit. He was sentenced to twelve years in prison, but was released in 2004 after seven years, aged only 24.

Since then he had gone on to marry Karen and have three children. His life had returned to normal, which was more than can be said for the parents of Rebecca Branson.

It was pitch-dark by the time the pool car pulled up outside the semi-detached house in Meersbrook. Crime scene tape surrounded the house and a uniformed officer was outside the front door. The usual gawkers were standing on the pavement, arms folded firmly across their chests to stave off the cold, a look of angst and worry on their faces. Secretly, they were enjoying the change from the norm. This beat watching cheap reality shows on television.

DC Faith Easter climbed out of the car from behind the wheel. ‘Bloody hell it’s freezing. I wish I’d brought my gloves.’

Sian Mills almost slipped on a patch of black ice. ‘I’m going to have to get some better grips on these shoes.’

Matilda led the way to the house. She was presented with a white paper suit from PC Harrison and slipped into it with ease.

‘What the hell is that?’ Matilda asked sticking her head around the corner into the dining room.

‘Wow, that’s so cool,’ Faith said. ‘It’s a Minion.’

‘What’s a Minion?’

‘It’s a PC who stands guard in freezing temperatures,’ came the reply from PC Harrison outside.

Both Sian and Faith laughed.

‘It’s a character from a film,’ Sian corrected.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Matilda said.

‘We’re in here,’ a call came out from the garage.

It was accessed from a door in the hallway next to the kitchen. Artificial white light from floodlights filled the freezing cold room. An Audi was parked in the middle, shelves full of oddities lined both sides. At the top of the room, three steps made from MDF led down to the garage. From a hook in the ceiling hung the lifeless body of Joe Lacey.

Standing on a stepladder next to the body was a blue-suited Adele Kean. ‘Good evening, Matilda.’

‘Evening, Adele,’ Matilda replied, looking directly at the hanging man. He had a white pillowcase over his head. The rope resembled the one used to hang Brian Appleby, and Matilda counted thirteen turns in the noose. This was definitely no coincidence. She swallowed hard and forced down the bile rising in her stomach. It wasn’t the sight of a hanging man that made her feel sick, it was the thought of a killer striking again.

‘His feet aren’t touching the floor; would the drop be enough to kill him?’ Matilda asked, remembering her conversation with Simon Browes at Brian Appleby’s post-mortem.

‘His feet are only eight inches off the ground. He could have been strung up rather than pushed off the top step. At a guess, I’d say asphyxiation.’

‘Who found him?’

Sian entered the garage, took one look at the hanging body, then down to her notepad. ‘According to the first responder, it was the victim’s son, Jason. He’s only five. In fact, today is his fifth birthday.’

‘Bloody hell, he’s not going to forget this birthday in a long while.’

‘The mother, Karen, was out with all three kids. Joe was getting the house ready for a birthday party. They came home, Jason comes rushing in and finds him hanging.’

‘What time did they leave this morning?’

‘About ten o’clock. Ish.’

‘And what about when they came back home?’

‘Around five o’clock.’

‘Adele?’ Matilda asked.

‘You know I don’t like time of death questions.’

‘After ten o’clock this morning?’

‘Yes. I’d say anything from noon until the time he was found. That’s a guess. Listen to what the neighbours say and go with that,’ she warned.

‘Thank you, Adele.’ Matilda smiled. ‘Where are the family now?’

‘Karen’s sister lives three doors down; they’re in there. The kids are distraught,’ Sian said.

‘How’s the mother?’

‘Quiet, by all accounts.’

‘OK. We’ll leave them for tonight. Get an FLO to stay with them. I want them all interviewed first thing in the morning.’

‘Are you happy with what you’ve seen, Matilda? Can we cut him down and take him to the mortuary?’ Adele said.

‘Yes, sure.’

‘Can someone help me take the weight of this man, please, so I can unhook the rope?’ Adele called out to anyone who would listen.

‘Two seconds,’ Lucy Dauman said placing the pillowcase carefully into an evidence bag.

Matilda turned away from her friend. She led Faith by the arm to the other side of the garage. ‘Faith, you’re good with computers, have a look online for anyone who thinks people like Joe Lacey or Brian Appleby should have served longer sentences.’

‘You think they’re linked?’

‘I do. Keep this to yourself for now, until we find something that connects them.’

‘Will do.’

‘Aaron,’ Matilda called out to the DS as she saw him pass the doorway at the top of the steps. ‘Get Kesinka and Ranjeet out here to knock on a few doors. I know it’s dark but it’s still only early evening. I want to know if anyone saw anything suspicious, not just today either. Has anyone been hanging around lately?’

Aaron nodded and walked away, pulling out his mobile phone. He seemed distracted, probably thinking of his heavily pregnant wife. Matilda had no idea how he was feeling, but even she was starting to wish Katrina would hurry up and have this bloody baby.

Matilda stepped back from the scene of activity and watched as Adele Kean, Lucy Dauman, and a scene of crime officer slowly lowered Joe Lacey to the ground. He was sealed inside a padlocked body bag. Matilda unzipped the forensic suit and took her mobile out of her inside jacket pocket.

‘Sian.’ She signalled her sergeant over to her as she searched for a number. She lowered her voice. ‘Do me a favour, go and visit George Appleby and find out where he was from lunchtime onwards.’

‘You don’t think …?’

‘Right now, I don’t know what to think.’ She put the phone to her ear and waited for her call to be answered.

Matilda went back into the house and nodded at PC Harrison standing next to the front door, who noted on his clipboard that she’d left the scene. She looked around at the sea of onlookers and neighbours who were standing behind the police tape straining to see any action. Ghouls.

‘Ma’am, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I thought you’d like to know we’ve found a body, another hanging,’ she lowered her voice. ‘I think we may have a vigilante operating in Sheffield.’

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